Untouchable
by crazyLantern
Summary: She knew Thresh better than anyone else, and they were so much more than prisoner and warden. But how does a madman love, if he can at all? Through destruction, of course. Little does Thresh know that some things can never truly be destroyed. So just how will he react when she resurfaces in the unlikeliest of places: the League of Legends?
1. Rise

**PLEASE READ ME (both old readers and new readers):**

 **So, it's me again, publishing yet ANOTHER re-write of Chapter 1. I've always been unhappy with how this story has started out, it lacked... something. I don't know what, but it's been bothering me ever since I decided to re-write Untouchable. But NOW, I've finally gotten round to properly re-writing the opening chapter, and I hope you give this a read if you have the time! Please let me know what you think.**

 **Note: Present tense used in this chapter for DRAMATIC purposes.**

* * *

Opportunity comes knocking in the form of a job offer, and Thresh is curious.

So he watches, like a wolf stalking the sheep between thickets of field grass, as his elders in the Order of the Blessed Isles whisper among each other in hushed, urgent tones.

He does not need to bother with the strain of eavesdropping to know that his colleagues in the Order are, once again, concerned about the affairs of the Blessed Isles.

A part of him reasons that he ought to feel the same sense of alarm, that the recent, surging emergence of dark magic artifacts all around the Isles are a terrible, _dreadful_ sign of danger to their sacred home.

By definition, he supposes that the Blessed Isles are indeed a stunning archipelago of nature's finest creations. Shrouded by the mists of legend and endless wonder, the Isles are a myth to most, its riches and grandeur all but left to fantasy in the minds of ordinary folk. But to the sage and wise, those learned in the ways of runic, arcane magic, the Isles are a place to call home.

With towering granite peaks crowned by a headdress of brilliant white snow and endless carpets of green draped over softly undulating lands, it is easy to fall in love with the beauty of the Isles. It is also easy, to see why the Order of the Blessed Isles endeavors to protect all that is precious to these lands.

But Thresh holds no love for sacred things, and some are convinced that he holds no love for anything at all. There is something not quite right about him, most in the Order would agree. And it shows, more than ever, when he stands among their ranks.

He is young for a member of the Order, startlingly so, his thick raven hair a shock of black amid heads of weathered, greyish-white. Even his features seem a tad too sharp, unforgiving and cold, his skin a shade too pale.

It is obvious that Thresh does not quite belong in the Order, and he knows it. Revels in it.

For it is because of the fact that he is cunning and meticulous and _dangerous_ that his colleagues, narrow souls devoted to the protection of good things (what makes a thing _good_ , anyway?), have turned to him in this hour of need.

They approach him in the same way that they have over the past month, nervous and blithering and utterly predictable.

Thresh wagers that they will likely open with a brief eulogy of the Blessed Isles.

"Brother Thresh. We know that the Isles are as dear to you as they are to us."

An arrogant smirk tugs at his lips, and Thresh basks in the easiness of it all. He nods, and the other members of the Order stumble on, hopeful as always. He does not need to listen to know what comes next.

Next, they will explain that the Order of the Blessed Isles has rounded up a vast collection of dark, corrupted magical objects; tools of the wicked that need to be locked away for what they claim to be the greater good.

"... And we understand that it is a lot to ask, but surely, there is no one better suited to watch over these artifacts than yourself, Thresh. Should you so graciously accept, that is…"

They offer him the job of protecting and guarding a massive vault in the heart of the Order, built with the sole purpose of containing the evils believed to lie upon the various relics.

It is the same as before, same as always, and out of habit, Thresh pretends to be unconvinced.

"I am flattered, esteemed Masters, but I do not believe that I deserve the honor you would so willingly bestow upon me."

With quietly contained glee, he lets them splutter on, spinning blatant lies about the strengths of his character and infallible will. This is their little game, of the bored, curious cat toying with the gullible, clueless mice.

In all honesty, Thresh has no reservations about taking the job. It seems a refreshing change of pace, and there is something… _relatable_ about the darkness described in the artifacts that appeals to him.

The only reason that Thresh has delayed accepting the job for so long is for the simple reason that he likes watching his colleagues fret and worry and _squirm_ that they would have to find someone else for the role.

He knows of their fear that should someone more _noble_ (an inconvenience) be appointed to guard the artifacts, said someone would in time, find himself among the mad and the damned.

They do not want him to accept their offer just because he is strong-willed and painstakingly methodical. He is all those things, but they want him to take the job because they feel that he is already corrupted, that he is beyond reason and sanity.

And so Thresh declines, time and time again, content to watch his colleagues _beg_ and keel over singing him false praises in hopes of finally convincing him to accept.

But it has been a month, and Thresh is beginning to tire of the excessiveness of it all. So he waits until the oafs run out of things to say, and lets them bounce on their heels for awhile before answering.

"You make _very_ compelling arguments, my fellow Brothers. Perhaps it is time that I see reason."

Immediately, his colleagues' eyes widen in near-comical fashion, and the atmosphere very nearly quakes with nervous anticipation and disbelief.

"Are you- are you accepting the job, Thresh?"

"Yes, I believe I am. It is truly an honor." The smile he wears is only polite.

There is a moment of stunned silence, and when it passes the air between the men relaxes noticeably with relief.

They thank him, with vigorous, zealous handshakes and amicable claps on the back.

And when the initial bursts of celebration fade, they almost seem apologetic, that they have shoved this responsibility onto him.

"We must warn you Thresh, to be cautious. This job… this door we hold open for you," there is a beat of hesitation, "It is dark on the other side, and madness is surely waiting… we beg of you to proceed wisely."

Thresh darkens at the comment, but hides it well. _They are all fools, the lot of them._

"Then I suppose it is to my advantage that sanity is not required for the job."

He is the perfect imitation of humor and wit, and they share a laugh.

The masters of the Order laugh because they think he jests. Thresh laughs because he is already insane.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. Please review :)**


	2. Unexpected

3 years. That was how long it had been since his initiation as Warden. Had it really been 3 years? It was certainly difficult to believe, especially when he had been having so much... Fun. Perhaps, a little too much fun, in the eyes of his colleagues.

 _Concerned._ That was what the other members Order would say to him. Concerned that his job was, as they perceived, taking its toll on him. That maybe he was being a little too… _Dedicated._

Obsessed. They thought he was obsessed. That he had developed a fixation with the dark and corrupt artifacts placed in the vault. They couldn't lie to him, no one could. Thresh saw right through their thinly-veiled attempts at being polite. No. They weren't concerned. They were never concerned. They were afraid. Of him.

It was plain for Thresh to see in the way they spoke to him, the way they carried themselves when around him, as if walking on broken glass. Such a curious mixture of both respect and fear. Then again, was there really a difference between the two?

He couldn't say that he blamed them. It was, simply put, not normal for someone to single-handedly have so much ease dealing with magical objects that were deemed too dangerous to remain in the open. The entire Order had been warned that a certain sickness lay upon such artifacts and relics, a darkness that existed only to torment and corrupt.

It was a job that was supposed to be difficult. It was supposed to be riddled with resistance and danger and hardship. And yet for Thresh, it was all so effortless.

Throughout the years, Thresh had kept privy to his methods of establishing control and order within the vault. When probed for how he managed to keep it all so very, very calm, the Warden's reply would always be ominously vague. He had his reasons for remaining tight-lipped.

His methods were, less than conventional, to say the least. Thresh thought about the mirror. Yes, one of his personal favorites.

It was a seemingly innocuous mirror, an ornate oval-shaped thing. But like all the other things in the vault, the mirror was locked away for good reason. Within it's glassy surface, resided the spirit of a man. An _angry_ spirit, bound to the mirror by the sheer will of his hatred and malice.

There was never a moment where Thresh didn't feel like he was being watched. The gaunt, half-rotted figure would stare, vacantly and hauntingly with hollowed eyes at Thresh wherever he went. It taunted him. _Challenged him._

Thresh welcomed the challenge. With a scythe in his hand, Thresh would scratch the mirror's surface with endless little lacerations. The spirit and the mirror were one, to damage one was to hurt the other. And scratch by excruciating scratch, Thresh made sure that it hurt, slowly marring the mirror's surface.

He would not stop until the entire mirror was covered in scratches, trapping the spirit in darkness. In silence. And then he would painstakingly polish the mirror until it was pristine and iridescent once again. It was, at the spirit's expense, a delightfully entertaining cycle, an assertion of the power he wielded.

Now that Thresh thought of it, the spirit trapped within the mirror never gave him trouble these days. He found it mildly disappointing, but it was not like the vault posed a lack of options.

Granted, his ways of establishing order and control were likely to be frowned upon by his morally uptight elders, but who were they to question the measures he took? Who were they to think that they could do any better? And moreover, what right did they have to judge _**him**_?

If everything under his watch was evil or corrupt in some way, how dare anyone judge him for exacting the appropriate punishments? Justice was, after all, what the Order stood for, was it not?

But they wouldn't understand. Their feeble minds would never understand. Thresh knew this. And that was why the sinister details of Thresh's system remained within the meandering stone tunnels of the vault, buried secrets locked away along with the rest of the relics.

As far as he was concerned, this was his job. His house, his rules.

And so deep in the heart of the citadel, Thresh had made a home for himself. A home where his reign went unquestioned, where _**everything**_ was his to control. It was a home of isolation, a home that held no love, but to Thresh, it was perfection: A throne upon which he would sit, untouched by all things. And then came the day that the Order brought in the warlock.

* * *

There was something in the air that day that spoke of great promise. Thresh wasn't sure what it was, but he made sure to move swiftly, walking out of the winding citadel hallways accompanied by an elder in the Order, towards where the newest addition to the vault awaited them. A _**human**_ **.**

It is often inherent in human nature to wonder about what could be, and Thresh was no exception to this. He was well-aware that his _skillset_ could very well be applied to human subjects, actual living things that could feel and writhe and _**suffer,**_ but he had never thought that there would ever be any living beings transferred into the citadel, it was simply unheard of.

"And why is this person being delivered to the vault again?"

"Because he's infused his own flesh with healing runes!" His elder panted as he tried to keep up with Thresh's long, brisk strides. "The amount of dark magic performed in that ritual violates at least 50 of our laws! Not to mention the existence of someone that can never be killed, simply unnatural! Magic of that kind is absolutely forbidden! Surely you of all people would understand why?"

Thresh stopped in his tracks, silent for a few seconds. "Yes. Yes in fact, I do."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You meant exactly what you did."

The elder flinched slightly under Thresh's gaze. _No need to pretend like you're sorry,_ He thought with disdain.

They soon reached the entrance, and Thresh took the moment to examine his newest charge. There wasn't much to observe, with the man wrapped, no smothered, in a layer of cloth, bound at both the arms and legs, a sack draped over the warlock's head. Thresh watched as the imprisoned warlock writhed furiously in his colleagues' grip. _Like a worm on a hook…_

"Amused, Thresh?" The head of the Order greeted him with a fond smile.

"Only slightly," He replied with a thin smile. "This warlock is to be my newest charge, yes?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Regeneration from any wound..." Thresh murmured. Vivid images of splintered bones and massacred flesh played through his mind, stained scarlet with blood. He took a deep breath, and reigned the thoughts in.

"As you know, magic that defies the natural order of life and death is prohibited in the Isles. The warlock's success in pursuing such a venture has breached numerous, if not most of our regulations."

"At least 50, or so I've been told." Thresh cast a sideways glance at the elder who had accompanied him, indifferent to the way his colleague seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"Is that so? Perhaps you are right." Cyrill looked at his former apprentice quizzically before continuing. "As a sentence, the warlock shall remain under your charge indefinitely as a prisoner. The prisoner shall inhabit one of the chambers in the vault, you will find that the appropriate installments have already been made."

"And what happens in the event that the prisoner tries to escape?"

"That... is highly unlikely." Though Cyrill spoke evenly, there was something he was withholding from Thresh. It was as if... As if he didn't really think that the warlock was dangerous. Without further elaboration, Cyrill continued. "Ensure that the prisoner is provided with daily supplies and oversee the appropriate access to the hygiene facilities in the vault."

Food, daily supplies, access to the showers, even a whole cell provided for, it didn't seem like much of a sentence at all.

"This is a rather... Kind sentence, don't you think, Cyrill?"

"Our responsibilities lie with protecting knowledge. We are only meant to keep the warlock from spreading this form of magic. _**Contain, not detain.**_ " It made little sense to Thresh, but he didn't question it, watching as the members of the Order forcefully carried the figure into the vault.

"If I may be straightforward, Cyrill. This... Containment of which you speak. It is not exactly something the Order has concerned itself with before. Why couldn't the local prison take the warlock in?"

As the other members left, Cyrill turned back to look at his apprentice. "Thresh. It is, as they say, complicated..." The silver-haired man trailed off, implications weighing heavy in his tone. "But I believe, with good reason, that this person would be far better off in your hands, even if it might not be someone you expect."

* * *

Cyrill's departing footsteps soon faded to silence, and Thresh was left alone in the vault again. Well, not quite alone now, he thought as he glanced at the figure on the floor, still bound and cloaked.

"Are they gone yet?" Thresh blinked in surprise when he heard the warlock speak.

"Hey! I know you're there, you just spoke to Cyrill. Are your friends from the Order gone yet?" There was no mistaking it. The warlock… Was female.

"Yes. And they are not my friends."

"Oh, great!" With a surprising amount of ease, the figure picked herself up from the floor and shuffled into what looked like a more comfortable sitting position. Thresh made a note in his head to tell the other members that their binding skills needed work. "So… Mr I-Don't-Have-Friends, what's your name? I'm Amaranth."

She sounded so… Young. It was certainly not what he was expecting, much less her unusual name. In his head he had pictured a greying old man, a master of the dark arts with unimaginable power. Someone like… _That mage._ But that wasn't relevant.

His attention was on this strange young woman. She could heal from physical wounds, couldn't she? How was it even possible that someone could perform magic that surpassed even his knowledge at such a tender age?

 _Contain, not detain._ Cyrill's words echoed in his head. It made sense now. The reasons for Cyrill's leniency with the warlock's imprisonment suddenly became blatantly obvious. This wasn't someone out to wreak chaos on the world with his invulnerability, no it certainly wasn't. This was no more than a child, thrust into confinement.

But how and why did she… It didn't matter. What mattered was that regardless of whether she was what he expected or not, she was his prisoner. He was the Warden. She needed to learn her place.

"My name is none of your business, warlock."

"Warlock? I'm not a warlock." She sounded offended. "That's my father."

"Father?"

"You know, the male that contributes to a person's biological existence by-"

Heavens, why had he even said anything?

"As shocking as it might be, I know what a father is."

"Someone's a grouch." She swayed about playfully in her seat as if to tease him. "Though I suppose given your age, that's sort of expected..."

"My age?"

"No need for denial, I've seen the 'Order of the Blessed Isles' type. Grey hair, wrinkled skin, missing teeth. If I were _that_ old, I guess I'd be pretty grumpy too."

What the devil was this ridiculous woman talking about? He held no faith in greater entities, but yet he found himself praying with every fiber of his being that she wasn't usually this energetic.

"Then I regret to inform you my dear, that I fall terribly short of that description." He reached for the sack covering her head and pulled. Dark, raven hair spilled out to frame a very young, very stunned female face.

Thresh smirked. He was well-aware of the effect he could have on women sometimes, but was never truly bothered with affairs of the heart or physical desires. Such attachments and pursuits had always been rather mundane to him.

"Well, prisoner? Do I fit your... 'Type'?" He asked with a lazy grin as he fixed his gaze on her.

"I… Uh. You are not," She cleared her throat. "You're not what I was expecting."

"That makes two of us," Thresh muttered under his breath. Cyrill was right. How very unexpected indeed.

 **Author's Note: As mentioned before, for readers who have been following this story for some time, sorry for deleting all the previous chapters! I was largely unsatisfied with the pacing and some of the interactions in the story, but all the main events (no spoilers for new readers!) will remain the same. Mainly, I'm going to add more... scenarios (hint: semi-fluff, but Thresh-style of course. Nothing too cheesy for our beloved Chain Warden) that will hopefully make this a more enjoyable read. Bear with me, and we will most definitely get back to where we left off. I do hope you enjoy the rewritten chapters! To new readers, thank you for giving this fic a read, I hope you like it! Please leave a review about this chapter if there is something you liked or didn't like :)**


	3. First Impressions

Amaranth was no stranger to good manners: it had always been reinforced to her that there were never really any strict rules to observe when meeting new people. There was an appropriate time and occasion for just about every form of response, save for the one universal truth that it was never, never a good idea to stare.

And yet there she was, so blatantly staring at the Warden. She couldn't help it though, her assigned captor was… Unexpected to say the least, only appearing to be a few years older than her 22 year-old self. And not to mention that he had, quite possibly, one of the most handsome faces she'd ever seen.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed surprisingly well-built for a warden, a theory confirmed by the less than modest display of his chest, courtesy of a shirt with perhaps one button too many left unfastened.

Prominent, sharp cheekbones wore high on his face, accentuated further by the pale complexion that ghosted his flawlessly smooth skin. The roguish contours of his face tapered off ever so slightly to a firm, defined jawline, framing lips that appeared to be locked in an eternal expression of boredom and indifference. And while it was all very nice to look at indeed, what struck Amaranth most about the Warden, was his eyes.

Deep-set and heavily-lidded, they were colored with the most captivating shade of green. The same shade of murky green found in the recesses of pine forests, with a subtle sprinkling of ashen flecks. But behind the inexplicable magnetism that radiated from those unfathomable pools of green, there was also something terribly off-putting in his gaze that warned of danger. And for the life of her, Amaranth couldn't figure out why she found him so unsettling.

Perhaps it was the air of superiority that hung around him, like a persistent fog on a crisp autumn night. Or perhaps it was that hint of a wolfish smirk playing across his features, analyzing her, challenging her. But challenging her to do what? Or maybe… Maybe it was the way he looked at her. Like he was waiting for the opportune moment to dive straight into her mind and tear her apart, piece by excruciating piece. It was as devilishly attractive as it was intimidating, and Amaranth wasn't sure if there was really a distinction between the two.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you that it's rude to stare?"

Visibly flustered at having her thoughts interrupted, she scrambled for something to tell him.

"I wasn't staring. I was just taking time to… Get used to the room!" She added a bit too rapidly after a hesitant pause.

"Ah yes of course, there is after all, so very much to take in."

Amaranth grimaced at the Warden's sarcasm. He wasn't wrong though, the cell was exceedingly plain: a bed propped in one corner, a small table and chair in the other, and a sink lodged right into the wall. The showers, she supposed, were located elsewhere.

"Overwhelmed?" He probed lazily, opting to sit at the edge of the bed.

She hadn't expected the warden to fall for that pathetic excuse, but then again, he didn't have to be such an ass about it…The nerve of him! Toying with her like that...

"Not in the least." Amaranth scowled, glaring directly at the older man as she continued. "In fact, there's _nothing_ interesting in here at all.".

"Nothing interesting in here? Oh I beg to differ..." An uneasy lump formed in her throat as the warden tilted his head sideways, the words rolling off his tongue almost sensually while he took the time to examine his newest charge.

Amaranth was, in actuality, a very attractive woman. With an oval-shaped face and immaculate, cream-colored skin, she definitely looked far too young to be locked away in some cell. Her full lips were tinted a lovely shade of cherry blossom pink, complementing the soft pastel hues in her cheeks.

Then there were her eyes. Large and almond-shaped, they gave her a strikingly feline appearance, gorgeous orbs of metallic silver swirling with the intensity of a brewing storm. The glint of her steely gaze shimmered like polished opal gems, betraying both a fiery disposition and what was it… Turmoil? It was difficult to tell.

"Who's the one staring now?" The question was defiant, uttered through clenched teeth. Truthfully, she hoped her discomfort did not show. Suddenly, she was made very aware of her restraints. She tried not to think about how they were both sitting on her bed. She failed, and the discomfort grew.

"You've had your turn, don't complain." The Warden waved a dismissive hand at the young woman. Who would have known that a prisoner could be so entertaining? Especially one that was as easily riled up as her. Hm. He wondered what else made her tick.

"We were taking turns?"

"It would appear so. Besides. I was under the assumption that it is always ladies first, no?"

"How gentlemanly of you."

"And people still say chivalry is dead."

In spite of her irritation with him, Amaranth laughed. While she still didn't quite know just what the Warden was playing at, it was a nice change from… The recent past. She blinked rapidly out of pure reflex, trying purge away flashes of the events that had gotten her thrown onto the Order's radar in the first place.

Those demons were dead now, weren't they? Yes, of course they were. _Don't be silly,_ she chided herself. Being detained was supposed to be a means to an end, a much-needed escape from a life she never wanted.

 _No more bloodshed_ , she told herself. All ends were new beginnings, and this particular one was hers. Here, there would be no complications. This was solitary confinement at its finest, save for the less than appeasing company of the vault's warden. How could it possibly get complicated?

For a start, perhaps she could try to befriend the Warden, regardless how aloof he seemed. The interactions, however vexing they might be, would at least give her something else to think about anyway. Yes, this way, she wouldn't dwell on... Memories. This way, maybe she wouldn't be so... Haunted.

No one had said anything for sometime, Amaranth realized, and some of the initial unease began to gnaw away at her again. She needed to say something. Anything. Games. The Warden appeared to like games. Okay. She could play games too, right? She took a deep breath.

"I'd like to know if 'chivalry' has a name, if you please."

"Oh, he does." The Warden replied breezily, running a hand through his head of raven black hair, letting the inky locks tumble just above his eyes.

"Well? What is it?"

"My, my, you're an impatient one, aren't you?"

"Do you make it a point to be infuriating, or are you just an asshole by nature?"

At first, she thought that she had offended him, as the still-nameless Warden rose from his seat at the edge of her bed. Without another word, he headed towards the large metal cell door. Before she could apologize, he stopped at the door abruptly, casting a devious smirk over his shoulder as he spoke.

" _ **Both.**_ "

And then just like that, he was gone. Exasperated, she groaned in frustration. Two could play this game, she decided, and if it was a game the Warden wanted, he was going to get one hell of an opponent. _He has no idea what he's getting himself into_ , Amaranth mused. But then again, a small voice in the back of her head whispered, neither did she.

 **A/N: This chapter was... Boring to me at least, sorry if it appeared that way to you too. I hope at least, that the character descriptions were decent? I've always imagined Amaranth to look like Eva Green (the goddess from Casino Royale and 300, it's the eyes I swear), but then again that's just me. Feel free to picture anything you deem as appropriate! And for the dialogue... Well. I feel like the story needed something playful to set the tone for future relationship development while still (hopefully) capturing the cocky, sarcastic, asshole-ish demeanor that Thresh has. Let me know how I did, and thanks for reading :)**

 **Next chapter will touch more on Amaranth's healing abilities... And an unforeseen event that might get Thresh into a bit of trouble.**


	4. Curiosity Kills

Bored. Amaranth was bored. The first few days in the Order of the Blessed Isles' vault were uneventful to say the least, and Amaranth had found that there were only so many times that she could count the number of tiles lining her cell wall. 1300, to be exact. She just hoped that something interesting would happen before she had to resort to counting the number of hairs on her head.

As if to answer her, the cell doors swung open and the Warden strode in as per routine, carrying a bag of her daily supplies. Even after these first few days and her veiled attempts at prying it out of him, she still did not know his name.

Damn him and his inexorable need to be in control.

Well… She supposed that at least one of them was having fun. But in spite of their limited interactions, she had come to notice a few things about him.

The first was that he spent a lot of time in the citadel, more so than what she would have thought to be a regular job. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine why he would so willingly coop himself up with an entire collection of dark magic artifacts, even after his designated working hours. Was he truly that dedicated? Or was there something else that held his interest in staying?

The next was that it seemed like he was only programmed to have two kinds of responses: Silence, or some form of cryptic remark. If attempting to shower with cuffed hands was a challenge, even more so was trying to make conversation with the Warden.

Then there was the lantern, perhaps the queerest thing about him. A seemingly innocuous object, she had never seen him without it. He kept it close to him at all times, and when his hands were occupied he would let it dangle from a chain tethered to a buckle in his coat. There was definitely something about, or in the lantern that he guarded with an obsessive level of secrecy. She just didn't know what it was... Not yet.

"What's so special about the lantern?"

"This old thing? Oh, nothing. Just… Sentiment."

"... Sentiment. From you."

"You don't think I am capable of it?"

"As capable as you are of being nice to people."

"Yet here I am, bringing you food and water and fresh clothes everyday. How truly dreadful."

"It's your job!"

"Yes, it is. It is not, however, my job to entertain you."

"You're right, that isn't your job at all… Silly me. What was I thinking?"

Amaranth shook her head in resignation as she offered up her apology. That was it? That was… Too easy. Something was not right. Then, he caught the mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes as she peered intently at the lantern dangling by his side. It was just within her reach...

She wouldn't _**dare**_.

"I guess I'll just have to… Entertain myself!"

Like a cat, she pounced, lunging towards his lantern. Success! Almost purring with satisfaction, Amaranth sat on her bed, curiously inspecting the glowing green lantern.

"What's so special about this thing anyway?" Her fingers traced the lantern's frame, turning it over and over. She failed to see the thunderous expression that had overcome the Warden's face.

"Put. It. Down." He snarled threateningly. Amaranth paid no heed to his demand, for something in the lantern had caught her eye.

A strange green mist swirled around the lantern's core, beckoning to her… It seemed to assume several shapes, curling and twisting and morphing.

First, there was a man. Then, a boy. From what little she could see, they looked so alike… But it couldn't possibly be- Wait. Was that a prison she saw? And… There was someone else. She thought she heard a voice, but whose voice was it? The mist whispered something. A name.

"Who's Fantoche?"

"Enough!"

Finally, she looked up, startled by the sheer amount of anger in his voice. At once, Amaranth knew that she had made a huge mistake. If she thought that the Warden looked unnerving when his expression was neutral, then he was absolutely terrifying when angry.

With lightning speed, a pair of strong hands caught her by the collar, whisking her effortlessly off the bed. She slammed, painfully, into the wall.

"What else did you see?" His words were acid on her ears, and the grip around her shoulders tightened. Tightness turned to discomfort. Discomfort turned to pain.

"Nothing!" Shit, he was strong, even by her standards.

"Lies!" Heavens, what had she done?!

"No, no I swear! I only heard that Fantoche name, and there was something that looked like a prison and- Oh GOD, what are you doing?!" Her confusion gave way to panic as a scythe found its place at the base of her neck. What. Where had it even come from?!

The blade pressed threateningly into her skin. A warning. He wouldn't! And if he knew what was best for him, he shouldn't! She had to tell him, she needed to warn him before he hurt-

"Let me tell you something, _prisoner_ ," He spat. "I am a patient man, but there are _boundaries_ that you clearly do not seem to understand."

"I do! Just. Stop."

"Not until you learn that as long as you are in this vault, you are under _**my control**_."

"Alright, alright! Control is yours! I get it!" Oh, the grovelling. Where was her defiance now? "You don't want to do this, trust me…"

"My dear, I've always wanted to do this," The Warden murmured softly. Now that his initial rage had subsided, she saw the morbid curiosity that lingered in his eyes.

The scythe traced the entirety of her neckline, skimming lightly over her skin's surface. So… Human. So… Vulnerable. For a moment, he watched Amaranth struggle.

How strange. Such a different response from all the inanimate artifacts under his watch. Strange, yet, so very delightful. And the best part, was that-

"I can heal. I won't die."

Silly girl. Killing her had never even crossed his mind.

"That, my dear sweet prisoner, is precisely the point."

No consequences. For either of them, in fact. Only... Satisfaction.

"You'll gain nothing from this," Amaranth whispered, her fear growing.

The Warden grinned. Oh, she could not have been more wrong. He failed to realize that her fear was not for herself.

"No. I gain... _**Everything.**_ "

Without a trace of remorse and brimming with anticipation, Thresh raked the scythe across her neck forcefully, liberating the flesh that lay beneath. And then, there was nothing but pain.

It was the bolt of blinding, white lightning ripping through a night sky, the violent howling of a frigid winter storm. It was an irrepressible river of fresh crimson blood that demanded, above all else, to be felt.

Agony… Just as expected, exactly as desired. But yet, not at all as expected. And certainly far from desired.

 _Impossible..._

Thresh dropped to his knees, clutching clumsily at the ugly gash that had inexplicably materialized across his chest, an exact replica of the wound he had delivered to Amaranth.

Gasping as he fought the pain, he tried, with little success, to suppress the bleeding. A fresh sea of dark red flooded out from his wound at the pressure, soaking his hands in a viscous mixture of Amaranth's blood and his.

He summoned the strength to glance up at Amaranth. Her robes were stained with her own blood and his, but the wound was no more. And he now lay on the floor, most likely about to bleed to his death.

A death that would apparently be caused by a wound eerily identical to hers, right down to the little jagged ridges of the cut. The only difference, lay with who would bear the consequences. And the consequences, it seemed, were exclusive only to him.

But how? Why? Too many questions. Not enough answers. He needed answers… He tried to speak. No sound came out.

Like a slow poison, light-headedness came over him, a gradual dulling of the senses. Breathe, he had to remind himself to breathe. _One… Two… Three..._

A hand reached into his pocket. He found that he could not summon the strength to resist. The jingling of keys, a jarring sound that worsened an already throbbing headache. _Click_. Was that the sound of handcuffs being unlocked? He wasn't sure anymore.

The last thing he remembered was seeing Amaranth's face, her expression bearing nothing but worry. Her lips moved, but his mind could no longer process her words. Two hands reached to hoist him up, right before everything went pitch black, and his world plunged into darkness.

* * *

The Warden's eyelids twitched, and Amaranth heaved a huge sigh of relief, allowing her tense shoulders to finally relax. Chaotic didn't even begin to describe the past 12 hours.

First, she had dragged the unconscious (and rather heavy) Warden all the way from her cell, through the labyrinth of corridors (why didn't they have signs?!) and into his office. And when that was over, there was the scramble for bandages, cloth, water and anything that could qualify as medicine.

She had found an unfinished bottle of single malt whisky, and as much as it pained her to waste good alcohol, it had to suffice as a disinfectant. _He might be an idiot, but at least he had good taste in alcohol… Still an idiot though._

Not just an idiot. Stupid. Jackass. Bastard.

She must have called him at least a dozen names in her head as she tended to the grisly wound spanning his neckline. Of the few, she liked bastard the best.

A part of her had really wanted to leave the Warden to bleed to his death. He had purely imposed this on himself, although unknowingly so. How was she to know that her mere curiosity about a lantern would have warranted such an explosive response from him? Also, who carried a scythe around with them?! That in itself was even weirder than whole lantern thing.

But still… She thought about how the death of the Warden would seem to the Order.

Not dangerous, Cyrill had labelled her.

It was an opinion not shared by many in the Order. The death of the Warden would certainly shatter what was an already fragile arrangement. No way was she going to throw rocks at her glass house. She was not going back. She simply could not.

Besides. She had sort of, kind of, taken a small, tiny liking to the stoic, somewhat cocky Warden.

"Ugh…" Her attacker-turned-victim groaned as he raised his head groggily, a dazed look in his usually sharp eyes. He took a moment to take in his surroundings. "Gods, even when I'm dead I'm still stuck with you."

 _Should have let him bleed._

"No, you're definitely not dead, surprise! And you're welcome, by the way. Bastard." Yes, that particular one definitely stuck.

He narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if this was some form of awful passage into the afterlife or an even more unpleasant reality. As he attempted to get up, he was suddenly aware of the sharp discomfort shooting across from his neck to his chest.

He glanced down at the messy swathes of cloth. Oh. So he was still very much alive… Thanks to her. Great.

"What did you do to me?"

"Technically speaking… Nothing."

"Rarely do I loathe technicalities…" He muttered darkly, and an uncomfortable silence passed between the two.

"But uhm. Un-technically speaking..." Amaranth began slowly, unsure of why she was even bothering. "I can heal from flesh wounds, as your entire Order knows. But uh, there's something that the Order doesn't know. Well, except for Cyrill... When people hurt me, they hurt themselves. Any damage dealt to me gets reflected back to the attacker. So… I'll just heal and they… Well. They end up like you. Sorry about that..."

"And to think you were just talking about being nice to other people."

"What! Hey! I tried to tell you, you bastard! But _**no**_ , you were too interested in chopping me up with your scythe over absolutely nothing at all! And by the way, who the fuck carries that around?! You're a Warden, not some... Some psycho! So… You really did all that to yourself actually." She spoke quickly, gesturing furiously to the bandages wrapped haphazardly around his shoulders.

Truthfully, she was terrified that he would reveal the more gruesome aspects of her abilities to the Order. So far, only Cyrill knew. But Cyrill was different, he actually knew the entire story. The rest would simply not understand. No. They would see nothing but her past and her accursed bloodline and then they would judge her and condemn her to-

"Relax, I'm not going to tell the Order about your little magic trick."

"Y-you're not?" Wait. What?

"The prospect of being jobless is rather unappealing."

"Oh… That makes sense."

"Besides. You'd be bored without me. The other members of the Order are so very dull."

"Bastard."

"That is the third time you've called me that within the past five minutes. And as much as I enjoy being called an illegitimate child, I really prefer people to call me Thresh."

So that was his name. FINALLY. If he had to almost die for her to even learn his name, she wondered how anyone ever got to know him. They probably didn't.

"Fine. But just to be clear, _Thresh_. The whole bad boy thing you've got going on isn't going to help you out, alright? Unless you want more of that." She waved angrily at the bandages again. "I might not save your sorry ass next time."

"And here I was thinking you were my hero."

It was meant in jest, but there was some truth to his words. He would never admit it, but the amount of composure and resourcefulness she had displayed in saving him was rather impressive. If he wasn't nursing both his injury and his wounded pride, Thresh would have even gone so far as to say that Amaranth was proving to be a highly intriguing individual.

Rebellious. Clever. A resilient spirit. She had been one of the few people to ever hold their ground against him, with the only other exception being Cyrill. Coupled with the fact that he could never really physically harm her without incurring any repercussions on himself, Amaranth had somewhat gained his respect. Or at least, she had somehow made herself seem less… Inferior.

"I wouldn't call myself a hero, Thresh." It was an earnest reply, honest and melancholic, ringing heavy with implications that Thresh did not know. Not yet, at least.

"Why not?"

Silence. No quick reply, no comeback. Oh, he had struck a nerve.

A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as the gears in his head started ticking. So she was haunted by something. He had guessed as much, no one in their right mind would willingly throw themselves into confinement. Especially not someone who possessed powers as great as hers.

So what was it that drove her into hiding? Guilt? Fear? In due time, he would know.

Yes, he would take his time to enjoy this new little game. So what if he couldn't physically harm her? She was untouchable in terms of flesh. He doubted that she was untouchable in mind and spirit. After all, torment did come in so many flavors.

"I do not know why." Amaranth said after a while, her voice soft and distant, as she stared vacantly at her hands. They were still slightly bloodied from tending to his wounds, but it was clear that it wasn't his blood that bothered her.

"Clearly, there is someone, or some people, that you could not save." _Test the waters._

"Stop."

"Were they dear to you?" _Ah, a promising venture. Drop the bait._

"Thresh."

"Did you really think that saving me would serve as compensation?" _Cast the line._

All too quickly, she spun around, leaning in close enough for him to see the entire spectrum of emotions brewing beneath her otherwise calm features.

Loathing. Denial. Grief. What a deliciously complex mystery she was.

"Do you have a deathwish, Warden?"

"Maybe. But more blood on your hands wouldn't make much of a difference now, would it?" _And now, reel in the prize._

As if scalded, Amaranth recoiled sharply away from him. She hated how his words made her skin crawl. She hated the sickening sensation that came with what Thresh was implying. But most of all… She hated that Thresh was right.

"Perhaps it wouldn't." Amaranth sighed. She did not need to be reminded of who she was, of what she was. Not today, at least. Enough blood had been spilled already. She reached for her handcuffs. "Which is why I need these, I suppose… After all, I'm a dangerous healing lady, right?" She forced a smile.

"Leave them. It's probably better if you could walk around." _Hm. Nothing else to gain... For now. Best to let the catch go. Perhaps, next time._

It was a nice gesture. Too nice, given who it was coming from. Perhaps bastard wasn't quite the word to describe him after all… "Oh. Uh. Thank you, Thresh. I really apprecia-"

"And I figured that this way you would bother me less."

 **A/N: Sometimes sadism bites you in the ass doesn't it? All this mess for the sake of a stupid lantern. For this particular chapter, I thought that Thresh needed a pretty solid reason to snap at Amaranth, since he's usually so composed. (Why such an explosive reaction over just one name? Well, even Thresh has his triggers)**

 **Personally, I dislike writing chapters where Thresh is vulnerable, but I suppose it had to be done for the sake of... Plot progression? That being said, I hope that he didn't come off as too weak.**

 **As for Amaranth's past... It'll be explained in the next chapter or so. To readers familiar with the pre-rewrite story, a little heads up: Amaranth's backstory has been altered to include, well, let's just call him a familiar League of Legends face. Wanna venture a guess as to who he is? :D Another heads up: Thresh's backstory has been altered as well, though less so than Amaranth's. (I'll talk about it again when it becomes relevant)**

 **To new readers: Nice to see you! Hope you stick around for later chapters. Fav/Follow if you liked it :)**

 **Lastly(yes, I'm almost done babbling). Thanks sristy07 for the confidence bolstering and SereniT for the writing advice/reassurance. EDGLayla, hope you enjoyed this chapter's 'trouble' :P**

 **Thoughts on the chapter are always welcome! Thanks for all the reviews and other +1s so far.**


	5. Partners In Crime

**Recap: This chapter starts off a few days after Thresh discovers Amaranth's healing and damage reflective abilities (aka Thornmail).**

In his entire 27 years, Thresh could count the number of stupid, miscalculated things he'd done on a single hand. Four, as far as he was concerned. Of the four, three were related to that 'dangerous healing lady', or so she had called herself. Somehow, he got the feeling that number was going to increase again soon...

How she had even managed to get her hands on the lantern in the first place was beyond him. Oversight on his part, definitely. _Massive oversight…_

Perhaps he really ought to spend more time with the living… After all, he'd become so used to the relics and artifacts that just lay there it had slipped his mind that people, unfortunately, could move and behave in terribly unpredictable ways.

And Amaranth was arguably, the most unpredictable person he'd ever met, a trait which had ultimately led up to his second miscalculation.

Thresh grimaced as he thought back to the whole debacle. Granted, it was impossible for him to have known about her damage reflective abilities, but he definitely should have exercised more… Self-control when dealing with the matter.

No good could ever come from acting out of blind impulse, he knew that much. Yet in his moment of rage he'd sliced her right open.

Thresh frowned. It was a fool's mistake. He did not like to think of himself as a fool.

A momentary lapse in control, that was all it was. He sighed. Such impulsiveness was uncharacteristic of him. But what bothered him the most was that he had allowed himself to react to the simplest of triggers: a name.

Granted, it was _**that**_ name, and it set his teeth on edge to think that Amaranth might have seen anything remotely related to _**that day**_ , but still. Triggers were… Beneath him. It would not happen again.

Which brought him to miscalculation number 3. What in the seventh circle of hell had possessed him to think that she would bother him less if allowed to walk around the vault freely?

Over the past few days, he had to quite literally, tiptoe around the vault to avoid running into her. Heavens forbid she stumble upon his unusual way of keeping the artifacts in order. So far, he'd been rather successful, save for a few close encounters.

It was not that he was embarrassed about his work, no, it was far from that, and he honestly didn't care what she thought of him. Simply put, everything in the underground citadel was his, and only his, to toy with. Access to his precious collection without his approval was absolutely forbidden.

To an extent, he supposed that by default Amaranth herself was considered as part of the collection, but well… Until he figured out a way to stamp his claim over her, she was still a work in progress…

Furthermore, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to appreciate his subtle art of torment anyway. Uncultured imbeciles. Those ignorant enough to question him were not welcome in his world.

Besides. Thresh had never really been fond of sharing what was his...

Sighing with frustration, he peeled yet another page out of the book in his hands. A horrendous screech filled the air as the page was ripped from the book's spine, like limbs torn from a body.

To Thresh, it was all rather soothing. Finally. Some respite.

"Of all the random shit you've done, this has got to be the weirdest."

Where had she come from?! Wait. What did she mean by all…? All implied… It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral.

"This is not the first time you've watched me do something like this." He stated simply.

"Perceptive. No, actually, let's see… There was the mirror yesterday, and the chalice the day before that… So this would be third."

The third! The nerve of this girl! What was it about her that seemed to bring out so much carelessness in him?

"I cannot say that I am fond of audiences..."

"Which is why I've never interrupted before. And you looked like you were having a good time anyway. Happy, even! Whatever that means for you at least…"

"It is still not very polite to spectate without permission."

"Like you would have given me permission in the first place."

"Who knows? If you had asked _nicely…_ "

"Oh, cut the crap, Thresh. You would have slapped those cuffs back on me in no time." A playful smile curled the corners of her lips. "Besides. You're kinda cute when you're trying to sneak around."

Cute? Was she… Flirting with him? Dear heavens, and his colleagues called _him_ mad.

"I was not- Nevermind." He stopped himself, realizing how far they'd digressed. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

 _Uninvited as it may be…_ He chose to leave that last part out, better for her not to see how disgruntled he was.

"I thought I'd see what the big deal was about all these artifacts."

"And your first thought was to spy on me."

"Well, no. I tried to figure it out on my own, really! But to me, everything just seemed like a bunch of junk."

True. To the untrained eye, the vault was merely a collection of some of the world's strangest-looking objects.

"But when I saw you scratching that hexed mirror, which was completely by accident, by the way!" She added quickly after he cast her an ominous glare. "I realized that you were punishing the spirit that dwelled within its glass by trapping it in darkness."

"Interesting that you would use the word punish. Most people wouldn't be so liberal with their descriptions of what I do."

"Why? From what I hear, everything here is evil or corrupted in some way. And as the Warden, you have every right to make sure that everything is under…"

"Control." They both said in unison.

He looked at her strangely. For years, he had looked upon all attempts at getting close to him with the utmost disdain. Until now. It was almost as if she had made some kind of connection with him...

"Yeah… And I get all of that. It's just. This book. Doesn't seem all that bad. Doesn't do anything when not opened. Why tear out the pages?"

Perhaps, he could make an exception to his no-sharing policy just this one time…

"This is a living book. Ever heard of one?"

She shook her head. He beckoned for her to come closer, opening the frail, withered cover so that she could glance at the pages. At first, they seemed blank. Then, words materialized out of nowhere on the blank parchment, as if penned by an invisible quill.

"Don't read the text."

Thresh made no effort to shield her eyes from the pages, though his hands subtly angled the book away from Amaranth. He continued.

"This book is cursed with magic that captures a person's deepest, wildest dreams within its pages. It crafts a narrative so enchanting to each person that no reader can resist turning the pages until the very end."

"Nothing wrong with a little fantasy, if you ask me."

"Meaningless delusions," He said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "What most people fail to realize is that the book is parasitic."

"It eats _people_?!" He resisted the urge to laugh at her conclusion.

"Well… Not quite. As the readers become increasingly captivated by their own personal fairy tales, the book feeds off their joy and energy. It consumes and drains until nothing but hollow shells remain, left to desperately skim through the pages in search of their hopeless fantasies."

"Oh." It made sense now. Horrid, appalling sense, but she understood.

"And by tearing out the pages, I-"

"You starve the book of what it needs to thrive," She finished his sentence for him.

"Quite right, my dear."

"You could just set the book on fire, you know. Saves you a whole lot of time in killing it."

"Kill? No, my intention was never that, silly girl. What good would that be? Death is… Swift. It is… Too simple. Leaves nothing to the imagination."

"And choosing to remove the book's pages is the solution because…?"

"Without its pages, the book is unable to consume. It is a hunter without teeth. And without teeth, there is only… Famine. The slow, agonizing approach of the inevitable. The inescapable. It is famine that truly…" A thin smile spread across his lips. " _ **Destr**_ _ **oys.**_ "

Thresh searched her expression for traces of disgust, of disapproval… Of fear. He found none.

The feeling that washed over him could neither be described as delight nor disappointment. Perhaps he felt both.

"Hm. Famine suits you."

"How very sweet, Amaranth."

She made a face. Then, her expression turned thoughtful.

"But wouldn't the book die in the end anyway without its pages?"

He looked at the book, withered and tattered. It had definitely seen better days. Yes, he supposed that to her, it must have looked on the brink of disintegration, or death, as she had put it.

"Yes, I suppose it would die… Eventually. But that would be dreadfully disappointing."

"Pft. I'll bet."

"When the pages are all but spent," He gestured to the heap of parchment in his hands. "I take it upon myself to bind them back into the book's spine. I've become fairly adept at mending the book back to its original state."

"Altruism doesn't suit you."

"Kindness was never my most redeeming quality."

Amaranth laughed. It was a pretty sound.

"Evidently not… But I suppose that makes you perfect for this job."

"You would be the first to think so."

"Really?"

"Most people would find my methods… Disagreeable."

"I hardly qualify as 'most people'..." There was a catch in her voice, a small hitch that told him far more than she would have probably liked to let on.

Ah, a little trail of unpolished gems, aching to sparkle with truth. How convenient. He would gladly collect.

Thresh studied her carefully. So much pain for someone so young. What was she hiding?

"You seem rather averse to being special."

"You think I'm special?" She whispered.

"You think otherwise?"

"Most people wouldn't use the word 'special'..."

He smirked. "Then I suppose that I too, do not qualify as 'most people'."

The slightest trace of a blush fluttered across her cheeks.

"Nice to know I have company." She smiled softly, appearing to struggle with some decision.

"Tell me something, Amaranth. Is that what you would see within these pages?"

"Excuse me?"

Thresh gestured to the book in his hands, willing for her to take it. "Is that what you crave? Redemption. Acceptance." He paused before adding. "Perhaps even love?"

"Two out of three. Not bad, Thresh."

"I was aiming for a clean sweep," He whined in mock disappointment.

"And what about you, Warden? What dreams drift through your mind when night falls?"

"Dreams are but senseless indulgences."

"Untouchable as always, I see."

"Funny that you of all people are calling me that."

"Takes one to know one. I refuse to believe that you don't have any dreams at all."

"Your faith in my idealism is somewhat misplaced."

"Shall we find out?" She grinned impishly, pointing to the pages in his hand. He looked at her incredulously. "You did say that you make a habit of mending the book after tearing out its pages, did you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"We should probably get to it then! I'd love to see!"

"We…?"

"Well... After everything you've told me, I'd quite like to watch you go about doing your job."

"You want to… Watch."

She nodded brightly.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is about to become a recurring event…" He murmured.

"There's no one else that could explain each artifact's story the way you do. Who else has the amount of expertise that you possess?" Her tone turned cloyingly sweet. "And this way you won't have to worry about me spying on you. I promise I'll behave. Please?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Amaranth."

"You told me to ask nicely!"

Did he? Thresh briefly skimmed through their entire conversation. Oh yes, yes he did. He cursed.

"Fine."

A delighted beam spread across her face, liberating her youthful features from the cloud of fatigue that seemed to linger over her half the time.

"I've always wanted a partner in crime."

"Do not call us that." _Partners in crime._ It was, on paper, a downright awful notion.

But… Thresh took a moment to consider his options. Having her follow him around would also allow him access to her thoughts. With patience and the appropriate amount of probing, he would probably have enough pieces of the puzzle to fully comprehend the chaos that was her mind.

Because with understanding, came the ability to destroy. And only then would he seize his reward.

She would make a most valuable addition to his collection. The _**most**_ valuable, he even dared to say. Every collector needed a crowning jewel, and she would be his.

Yes, for this reason alone, it would be worth it.

 _Excuses. You merely find her presence enjoyable._ A small voice in his head whispered. He ignored it. Best to focus on the prize.

 _Partners in crime._ Perhaps it wasn't such an awful idea after all.

 **Author's Note: This chapter was written over perhaps one drink too many, but eh. It got the job done. I highly suspect FanFiction has been eating some of my PMs, so apologies to reviewers who haven't received my thanks. (Though you're probably tired of me clogging your inboxes anyway, right? :P)**

 **David: Thank you, dear guest reviewer, for your kind words! I am glad that I am able to provide an entertaining read about your favorite champion (and mine too). I hope you continue to stick around :)**

 **This chapter was meant to bring Thresh and Amaranth closer together. It's tricky to write meaningful grounds for attraction with someone like Thresh. For this I thought that Thresh's attraction to Amaranth should begin with intrigue, especially since she isn't disapproving or fearful of his more sadistic side. Coupling that with his irrepressible need to break things/people in order to understand/gain ownership of them, I hoped to build grounds for their relationship.**

 **In turn, despite her pretty much over-powered abilities, Amaranth is a highly conflicted individual and I think she finds Thresh's 'untouchable-ness' in mind and spirit to be an interesting contrast to her physical invulnerability. It's not much, for now. There'll hopefully be more grounds for her infatuation with him in later chapters (for reasons not yet explained!)**

 **Also, the 'magical energy-eating book' (forgive me if that was lame!) was largely inspired by a hybrid of Harry Potter's Mirror of Erised and Tom Riddle's Horcrux diary. 0 points for originality, I know :(**

 **As always, let me know if the chapter makes sense to you, or if you enjoyed it! (I'm open to editing chapters after they've been published) Your views are very much appreciated.**

 **Next up: Amaranth's past.**


	6. Awakening

Of all the things Amaranth had expected from life in captivity, this was not one of them.

Had she considered becoming friends with her captor? Sure, why not, she had always liked meeting new people. Was she prepared to go along with his strange habits and tendencies? Maybe, it was not as if she were in a position to judge him anyway.

But the prospect of developing some strange infatuation with the Warden? No, no, no. That was the last thing she wanted. This was not good.

Could she help it though? The past week spent with Thresh was arguably the most enjoyable she'd had for a good long time. With him, she felt… Free, as ironic as that was.

Now that she thought about it, imprisonment was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had forgotten what it was like to listen and learn and actually _live_. There had been so little room for any of that in the past few years…

And over the past week, she had come to the conclusion that Thresh was not an entirely terrible person. Morally ambiguous, but not entirely terrible. At least, that was how she felt about him.

She _liked_ Thresh. Not that she particularly wanted to, but she just did.

He was always so composed, so elegant even when things got… Intense. And did they ever. Dark magic artifacts, she had come to realize, were not to be trifled with.

There was not a single object in the citadel that wasn't cursed, or corrupted or imbued with some form of ghastly magic. And Thresh knew exactly how to handle each one.

She didn't mind the occasional cruelty he displayed, nor did she mind his almost otherworldly air of intelligence and superiority. In fact, coupled with his sardonic wit, it was infuriatingly attractive.

Then there was the way he chose to articulate his thoughts. It was mesmerizing to listen to him explain the workings of each relic. For hours on end, she had listened, and learned, spellbound each time.

Thresh had this… Morbid understanding of darkness. He didn't seem at all unsettled by the horrors surrounding him, formless, voiceless shadows that wanted nothing more than to terrify.

In spite of it all, Thresh was unafraid. Unwavering. Embracing, even. She found it breathtaking.

Amaranth cringed. Heavens help her, she was already mooning over him. Perhaps in him, she saw solutions to all of her… Issues.

"Daydreaming, Amaranth?"

"I-Uh. I was just. Thinking. About something."

"First time for everything." He dodged the playful blow aimed at his arm with ease. He probably thought her childish. She didn't care. "Do share."

 _Say something, anything!_ Ugh. She was not usually at a loss for words. Damn feelings.

"I was just wondering... If there's anything in here that you don't torture?" She stood there, arms folded, mildly impressed at her own effort. It wasn't half-bad.

There was a certain destructiveness about Thresh that warranted no exceptions, and Amaranth did at times wonder if she was the only thing that had yet to be broken in this vault.

"Why do you wish to know?" He sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Oh, right. Thresh didn't like it when people implied that he was incapable of something. Oops. Perhaps she could tease it out of him...

 _Don't play with fire,_ a part of her warned. Pah. Not like she could ever get burned anyway… Right?

"Oh, so there is!"

"If there was, _hypothetically speaking_..."

"Then I bet I could crack this thing before you do," She said with a bold smile.

He snorted. "I highly doubt that. Besides. There is nothing you could wager that would be of interest to me."

"It was just an expressio- Nevermind. It's just hard to imagine that there might be something that even you can't break."

"Something that I cannot break? That is hardly the case." His tone turned sinister. "I've discovered that in the right hands, all things..." Sharp, green eyes came to rest upon her frame. "Can be _**broken**_."

She tried to ignore the frigid fingers trailing down her spine upon hearing his words. He was trying to intimidate her. She would damn well make sure that he would fail. _Never. Give in. To. Scare tactics._

"So… What you're basically saying is. This thing, whatever it might be, is too dull for you to even bother with." She planted her hands on her hips. _There. Show him you're not afraid._

"And yet you still wish to see this exceedingly useless object." He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

 _Oh how deliciously handsome he looked when he did that…_ Amaranth shook her head. Now was not the time!

"You know me so well," She said sweetly.

"My first step is always to thoroughly understand the objects of my interest. I find that it makes picking up the pieces far more enjoyable. When the time comes, that is." He returned a roguish smile of his own, and the smug expression on Amaranth's face faltered.

"I am not some… Toy of yours! And rest assured, there are no pieces of me whatsoever available for you to collect!"

"Is that a challenge? If so, I gladly accept." She was about to interject, but he breezed on.

"No matter, I suppose that this relic holds a particularly illustrious history that is just _begging_ to be told… Even I found the story rather entertaining."

"You? Entertained? Oh boy. Sounds like a lovely mixture of thrilling and appalling. What is it?"

He smirked. "It's a surprise. Come."

All she could do, as she had so many times before, was follow him.

* * *

As they walked, in comfortable silence, she could have sworn that they weren't alone. There was the faintest sigh of a voice, unfamiliar and hostile, carried by an unseen wind.

"Did you hear that?" She had asked, a shaky hand placed hesitantly on Thresh's arm.

From the look of pure mockery he'd given her in response, she supposed not.

She had a bad feeling about this, whatever it was that Thresh was going to show her. And then there was that downright _nauseating_ feeling that had increased ever so steadily from the moment they'd made that particular turn down one of the restricted corridors.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea… Maybe she should just- Amaranth squeaked in surprise as she collided with the Warden's back.

"I'd watch where I was going, if I were you." Too late. They'd stopped.

"Uh. Why?" She hoped she looked better than she sounded. The headache that gripped her was as sudden as it was unrelenting, icy talons burning their way into her temples.

"Because, my dear prisoner, this is one of the most heavily enchanted chests in the world."

It took a great deal of focus to finally register what she was looking at. Amaranth studied the elaborate carvings on the metal chest.

There were at least 10 different locks lining the rim. A soft glow emanated from its surface, gleaming with the traces of runic magic.

"Someone's paranoid…" She managed weakly.

"Yes, indeed. Dozens of spells, runes and seals all for the sake of securing a skull. Even I thought it a tad too much."

"Skull…?" Amaranth winced as the throbbing sensation in her head worsened. _What the hell...?_

"It does sound queer, doesn't it? Make no mistake. This chest guards the lost skull of one of the most powerful warlord-kings to ever walk the face of Runeterra. It might take a while for me to perform the counter curses required to access Mordekai-" He trailed off abruptly. "Stop. What do you think you're doing?!"

She did not answer. She could not. A trance of sorts had settled over Amaranth, wreathed in a calmness that was equal parts angelic and haunting.

She floated silently towards the chest, wingless and tethered, guided by a force only she seemed to be able to sense. Flashes of light bounced off her body, the protective enchantments rendered shockingly useless.

Her fingers had barely grazed the edges of the chest when all the locks simultaneously unlatched, tiny gates of iron retracting in recognition of some grand homecoming due to take place.

As if on command, the chest's lid flew open, revealing that which had long since fallen to myth. Perhaps there were some things that should have never been forgotten.

A single skull rested upon a lining of black velvet. It whispered for her to come closer. _Closer..._

Trembling hands met cold, smooth bone, untouched in centuries, and a plume of black mist burst forth from the chest. A ravenous beast, it engulfed Amaranth, trapping her in an unknown realm.

She heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing of the world surrounding her. And unbeknownst to her, the silver-grey of her eyes darkened to glow with the violence of scarlet red.

* * *

The world that welcomes her is one that is drenched in crimson.

Everywhere, there is blood. It seeps into the barren soil, trampled ceaselessly beneath the feet of thousands. It hangs in the air, putrid and heavy with the stench of death. It stains and smears and coats the once-polished armor of countless corpses, strewn across the landscape like discarded, mangled dolls.

There is no life here, not anymore. Except for him.

He stands among the carnage and ruin, a horrific figure clad in impervious iron armor. Upon his shoulder, rests a giant mace. That mace. She knew it from somewhere…

A soft breeze fills the air. It slithers past Amaranth's ears, an invisible serpent seeking out its prey.

 _Nightfall._

 _Nightfall._

 _Nightfall…_

All of a sudden, Amaranth feels light-headed. Everything is strangely familiar for some reason. A part of her knows why.

The warlord turns slowly, inspecting the remnants of what had been a glorious battle. Victory. With little effort, he raises the mace high towards the sky.

He is proud. He is strong. He is... Mordekaiser. She now knows why he is familiar.

* * *

He cannot win this fight, she can see it. The warlord-king knows it too. For the first time ever, there are too many of them, and only one of him.

This is to be his last stand. But as arrow after arrow lodges itself in his armor, even in the face of defeat, Mordekaiser laughs.

 _Why does he laugh?_

"It's over, Mordekaiser!"

"Fools!" The grip on his mace, Nightfall, tightens as the signs of his failing strength start to betray him. "The greatness I carry knows no ends! My legacy… Shall prevail!"

Before Amaranth is even able to process what he means by that, a splitting headache cripples her, and the next few scenes are scorched into her mind.

* * *

It is peaceful. Too peaceful. Soft waves lap lazily at the barren shore, desolate and abandoned. A single ship bobs up and down at the docks, destined for a grander purpose.

A harbor? Why? What happened to the battle?

"I will not leave!" Rage. So much rage for such a young man.

"You must!" He is accompanied by another. Both their helmets bear Mordekaiser's emblem.

"No! The King remains in battle!"

"And there, he shall remain! Your place is on this ship!" The young man's escort is older, weaker. This was no warrior. An advisor of sorts, it seemed.

"My place is beside my King." There is something striking about the young man. He seems too proud, too strong…

"Fool! Do not waste your blood on battles that cannot be won! Not even by the great Mordekaiser himself!"

"He is my _**KING**_!"

"And you are his son."

 _Legacy… Prevail… Oh please let it not be true..._

"All the more reason to-"

"Mordekaiser's bloodline must not end. In you, his legacy shall prevail. That is your purpose."

Hatred burns in his eyes. So very much like his father.

He hungers to crush and rip and maul. But at the same time, he understands that now is not the moment for such glory. The legacy must live on. He boards the ship.

* * *

Again, there is blood. Why is there always blood?

 _Stupid girl, you know why._

But this time, it is not Mordekaiser's lonesome silhouette that presides over the battlefield.

Instead, there are many that remain, standing around Mordekaiser's crumpled, fallen form. His mace remains clutched to his chest, a worthy image of death. Finally, he has been slain.

They set fire to the lifeless vessel of armor. Let the flames burn away Mordekaiser's filth.

A roar of triumph escapes the throats of the men. They have fought too hard and lost too many. But now, it is over.

It is never over.

* * *

All that remains is bone. Bone, and a suit of blackened armor. Not a single trace of flesh, all but seared away by the hungering flames.

From the shadows, 13 emerge. The hooded figures glide across the ruins, drawn to the Iron Revenant's remains. Sorcerers. Human, but clearly on the verge of not being so. With great discretion, they gather every bone, every piece of armor. And then, they are gone.

The sorcerers surround a rune-carved slab. It is hard to make out what lies upon that slab, but Amaranth already knows. This is necromancy at its vilest.

Red. A blinding, vortex of crimson light bursts forth from the slab, and the ground quakes in anticipation of greatness.

A spectacular crackle rips through the air and a wretched figure rises from the slab, bright red eyes burning with nothing but a thirst for slaughter and conquest.

The wraith howls, and shards of blackened armor latch onto his spectral form, piece by piece. Now a terror of the undead, he stands tall before the necromancers, kneeling on the floor at his feet.

Once again, he is proud. Once again, he is strong.

Mordekaiser has been reborn. The Iron Revenant is his name. He speaks his first words.

"Find my heir and bring him to me." Nothing that comes next can be good.

* * *

Screams. The clash of metal against metal. A monstrous battle cry. And then, the sickening crunch of something large and heavy being brought down upon bone and flesh.

For a moment, there is silence.

"Crush them all."

"Together, my King."

He cares not that his father has been transformed into a state of undeath. He is finally in his rightful place, in the service of his King, the unholy spirit of Mordekaiser reborn into an armored monstrosity of hatred. Together, their empire shall grow in greatness.

And the screams begin all over again. Anguish. Terror. Suffering. So begins the reign of the Iron Revenant.

* * *

Anxiety. It comes in wave upon wave of paranoia, and she is drowning, suffocating.

" _My lord, your skeleton must be complete for the necromancy to work, not a single bone is to be missing. If not, the necromancy shall fail. If not, we cannot hope to resurrect you."_

" _Safe! Keep them safe! I order it!"_

" _Where is the fibula?! Where is it?! You! You took it, didn't you?!"_

" _Secure the bones! We must secure the bones!"_

Mordekaiser sits upon his throne, deep in the heart of the Immortal Bastion. He had carved this fortress from scratch, a towering stronghold built for one purpose: To ensure that his skeleton, the key to his unholy reincarnation, would forever remain intact.

The necromancers who had brought him into undeath were now liches bound to him by soul, rewarded with their current state of undeath, cursed into eternal servitude.

And every time Mordekaiser seemed to be slain, his ever-faithful liches would ensure that he was resurrected through ancient magic conjured from right from the very hands of all who were wicked.

There was however, one small thing. A shapeless parasite that had embedded itself in Mordekaiser's thoughts, eating away at him every waking minute. Paranoia.

It was all so… Fragile.

He worries for the safety of his bones. He worries that one day, the set will be incomplete, be it by treason or theft or should they come to be destroyed. He worries that one day, he may never again be resurrected. And if that is the case, his only option left is...

His bloodline. Yes. For the sake of his legacy, the bloodline must be continued. He turns to his son.

Age has taken a toll on him, but he is still loyal to his King's values. It is the only way of life he has ever known. It is the best way of life.

"There will come a time when you too shall pass, my heir, such are the trappings of mortality. But prior to that, you must promise that the name of Mordekaiser will not die with you. Continue the bloodline. Ensure the continuation of our greatness."

Mordekaiser's descendant does not question his ruler, the Revenant's word is law. Instead, his response is simple.

"How many heirs, my Lord?"

"One." Although he has spent many years serving his King, the answer surprises him.

"Just one?"

"Any more would dilute our greatness."

"I understand. I will procure a suitable mate at once." The Second descendant suspects that their business is not quite finished, so he refrains from bowing to his King (his father) just for a moment.

As expected, the giant iron-clad wraith pauses, deliberating on a thought.

"Only sons. Daughters are not worthy to bear the name of Mordekaiser."

So it shall be. Only then does the Second bow and take his leave.

* * *

The cries of a newborn infant pierce through an otherwise tranquil night. Delivered in the cold, rotted hands of the Revenant's liches, they hand the bawling child to Mordekaiser's heir, the Second, for inspection. It is a girl.

"Unworthy."

The glint of a sword catches Amaranth's eyes. It hovers momentarily above the baby's bare skin.

The cries seem to grow louder and louder. A swift motion, the flash of cold, unflinching steel, and then, the crying stops. The night is tranquil once more.

Mordekaiser's heir turns to a woman. She is frail and weary, her skin glistening with sweat from exertion. Visible fear grips her as the Second speaks. "Next time, you shall not fail me. The Third shall follow in my footsteps."

Everything warps, and it is as if she is hurtling through time. The faces change, the numbers change, but the dark will that drives each heir remains the same.

She does not know how many more newborns have been slaughtered, how many more will be slaughtered. She does not wish to know. All for the sake of Mordekaiser's wretched bloodline.

 _Only sons…_ The Revenant's words echo in her head, and in them, Amaranth finds hope. But is it hope, or is it denial?

* * *

"It is a girl, my liege."

Stop. She wishes for it all to just stop, knowing what comes next. But as her gaze falls upon the face of Mordekaiser's latest heir, doomed to die, her blood runs cold.

Gray eyes. They shimmer with the silver of the moon, innocent and oblivious to the fate that awaits her.

The infant's father, yet another _worthy_ descendant of Mordekaiser, wears an expression that is cold and filled with disapproval. He raises his weapon, a mighty spear. It is the weapon that bears the mark of the Twelfth descendant.

She knows that weapon. She knows that look on the Twelfth's face. She knows it all too well.

But still, Amaranth is unable to break her gaze from the baby girl's eyes. The damned eyes. They are familiar. They are hers.

A piercing, sharp pain rips through her entire body, and Amaranth screams.

Finally, maybe, it will all be over.

* * *

Gaping, lifeless holes stared mockingly back at her where pools of raging red once were.

In wake of the plain, cruel truth that had just been forced upon her, the weight of Mordekaiser's legacy, of her entire bloodline, bore down on Amaranth more heavily than it had ever before. It was weight that she did not want to bear. Could not bear.

 _You knew… You always knew who you were. Mordekaiser''s Thirteenth heir._

 _It is in your blood._ _It is your past. Your present. Your future._

The black mist subsided, creeping back into the recesses of empty sockets, and with it, Amaranth felt every ounce of energy leave her body. The skull slipped from her grasp, tumbling harmlessly to the floor.

Numbness overcame her, a dull paralysis of both the flesh and the mind. She waited to heal, to feel the familiar rush of energy grace her senses with life. She waited, but it did not come. In its place, came darkness.

And then she was falling, falling, sure to hit the ground. Perhaps the pain would jar her from this lifelessness, perhaps she would wake from this nightmare, perhaps it was all just- She collapsed straight into the sturdy arms of the Warden, and finally succumbed to the beckoning shadows.

 **Author's Note: Oh my, this chapter was hard to write. Please excuse the awkward shifts in tense. Hmmm. I should probably clarify. Sooo, as you probably realized, Amaranth is the 13th descendant of our dear Mordekaiser.**

 **The entire flashback is basically Mordekaiser's lore summarized and served on a silver platter! With some tweaks made to include a certain great-great-great (repeat 13 times) granddaughter of his. In Mordekaiser's lore, his skull was stolen so that he would never again be revived. The details of that and what happens to his bloodline and how Amaranth fits in to all this will be touched on in the next chapter, probably.** **If things are still a little hazy, don't hesitate to ask me any questions!**

 **To be honest, I took huge gamble incorporating Mordekaiser into Amaranth's backstory. It was an idea that seemed interesting to me at the time, plus it's sort of important for future chapters. (wayyy into the future, like, the post-undeath Thresh kind of future)**

 **Please let me know how well or badly I did with this, and whether you liked Amaranth's backstory or not, I want to hear it, trust me, your reviews make my day! Thanks for reading.**


	7. Stricken

**(Very short) Recap: Amaranth has just experienced a rather vivid and unpleasant reminder of who she really is: Mordekaiser's 13th heir. After passing out from the rather traumatic flashbacks, how will she and Thresh handle the aftermath?**

She awoke to the softness of cotton sheets and the familiarity of her cell bed. The throbbing in her head pounded dully against sluggish senses and screaming muscles. It was pain that she welcomed. Because that meant she was far, far away from the atrocities that had plagued her subconscious ever since- Ever since…

With a jolt, Amaranth realized that she had no inkling whatsoever of what time or what day it was. The last thing she remembered was crashing into Thresh right before everything went dark. _Great..._

Groaning, Amaranth shifted stiffly in her bed, attempting to sit up. Only then did she realize that she was not alone.

Thresh sat facing her bed, perched like a hawk, the deadliness of a hunter masked beneath a veil of patience.

"Good morning, my lovely," He greeted her with a lazy smile and leaned back in his seat, awaiting her response.

With the despair of a bird with freshly clipped wings, she looked at him, flightless and lost. The silence stretched on until finally, she spoke.

"Warden. I wish to speak to Cyrill, please." Her words were forced and polite, crafted with a formality that fell short of her usual defiance.

 _Warden?_ How long had it been since she'd called him that? Probably not since she'd learned his name. Something was wrong.

"Cyrill is… Unavailable at the moment. Perhaps I could take a message?"

"That won't be necessary, but thank you for the offer, Warden." _Bullshit!_ She wanted to scream, but she forced down the outburst. She would not argue with him today.

Something flashed in Thresh's eyes upon hearing her refusal, but Amaranth didn't have the energy or state of mind to process what it was.

"And here I was thinking that you and I were just beginning to bond." His statement was laden with unspoken weight, bait hung in the air to lure wounded prey out of hiding.

Where he had expected to rekindle her capacity for their usual banter, Amaranth seemed to just _deflate_ before his very eyes, retreating further into her shell.

"My apologies, Warden." She mumbled half-heartedly. "I did not think that my troubles should be anyone's burden to bear."

"But yet you still wish to confide in Cyrill." Though Thresh managed to keep the venom out of his voice, the words were vile on his tongue, a bitter aftertaste left in their wake. _Cyrill._ What did his mentor have to offer that he could not?

Amaranth bit her lip. "I do. Please. Cyrill is the only one who-" She hesitated. How could she explain this to Thresh? She couldn't. Instead, she settled for something else. Something that was, though not apparent to her at the time, far, far worse. "Cyrill would understand."

"... And you are implying that I would not." He leveled his gaze with hers as the malice within him spiked feverishly close to boiling point. Thresh took a deep breath. _Let it simmer._

"What? No! I just meant that-"

"Tell me Amaranth, when did you become so attached to our esteemed head of the Order?"

"I didn't. I'm not. Look, I just _need_ to talk to him. What about that is so hard to understand?"

"You seemed perfectly content with talking to me over the past month and a half." His anger rolled and turned, a restless tide due to crash spectacularly onto shore. This was getting out of hand.

He needed to leave before something ridiculous came out of his mouth. But not just yet. Leaving on his own accord would be a defeat, a predator retreating from the chase. He would leave, eventually, but it would have to be on her terms.

"That was different! That was before Mo-" Mordekaiser's name lingered soundlessly on her tongue, a curse she could not say. "Cyrill knows who I really am."

All she needed was a push. _Just. A little. Push._ "And who is that, exactly?"

Something within her expression changed, and her lively grey eyes hollowed to a vacant, hardened stare. "I think you should leave. Now."

"Why? Am I suddenly not good enough for you after your encounter with the great Mordekais-"

"Leave! I don't want to talk about it. ESPECIALLY. With you! Just. Go!" Oh? So be it. He knew when there was nothing more to gain from a situation.

"If you say so, my dear." Casting her a final glance, he bowed out of the room without another word.

As the metal door swung shut, Thresh cursed, and all the anger he had been withholding finally burst forth in a tidal wave of frustrated thoughts. He didn't know what was worse, her refusal to confide in him, or her insistence on only speaking to Cyrill.

Why Cyrill? It was not Cyrill who had spent all that time in the vault with her, nor was it Cyrill who had given her the luxury of waltzing around the whole damn place free of restraint.

And it was definitely _not_ Cyrill who had caught her when she fainted, carried her back to her cell (truthfully, he didn't really mind) and kept an eye on her while she recuperated from whatever it was that had happened with Mordekaiser's skull.

So the question was, why? Why on earth did she prefer his mentor, of all people, to him? And why, was this goddamned triviality bothering him to no end?

 _You're jealous_. Not in _that_ way of course, he was above such petty insecurities. He knew that Amaranth harbored no romantic feelings towards Cyrill whatsoever. The mere idea of it was just… Disturbing. This was about something else entirely.

As Amaranth herself had said, Cyrill "would understand". That meant he knew something Thresh didn't. The whole story. It implied that Cyrill was, in a way, closer to Amaranth than he was.

And Thresh detested the thought of someone else knowing her better than he did. No. He would not allow it. She was… What was she to him, exactly? Prisoner? Plaything? Friend? (Since when did he acknowledge anyone as his friend?) Not quite… None of those seemed to fit.

It was rather simple, really. She was his. And he would not. Share her. With anyone.

* * *

He did not return to Amaranth's cell until the next morning. One look at her face and Thresh could tell that she had not slept much, if at all.

"Long night?"

"What are you doing here, Thresh?" Well, at least she was using his name again.

"My job, what else?"

"Oh. Uhm." Her eyes skipped over his frame and lingered on the door, as if expecting someone else to arrive.

Was she disappointed that he had shown up instead of Cyrill? Subtly, his jaw clenched. He'd reflected upon this matter just yesterday, why was it resurfacing again?

 _Bury it._ Yes, he would. As far as Thresh was concerned, he would bury the thought over, and over, _and over_ again until it had all but vanished from his mind.

"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears that Cyrill is out of the country at the moment."

"You're lying."

"Why do you assume the worst in me, Amaranth?"

"Should I not?"

"I find your distrust very upsetting."

"Oh boohoo," She muttered.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. _Play. Nice._ Given how unstable she was at the moment, it was probably the best way to get her to open up to him. To trust him… _Like the way she did with Cyrill..._

"If you must know, Cyrill is currently investigating a series of assassinations occurring throughout Runeterra. And no, I do not know when he will return."

The suspicion in her stare lessened only slightly, her delicate brows furrowed deep in thought. "Assassinations? Sounds like something the police should be taking care of, not the Order."

"Pft. Those half-wits in the police force are hardly qualified to pursue criminals with such problematic… Skillsets." A bitter edge crept into his voice, perhaps more than he would have deemed appropriate.

"And what skillset is that?"

Thresh looked her straight in the eyes. "Dark magic. Surely you know a thing or two about that?"

"I do." Her trauma hung from her neck like a pendant of rope, the noose tightening ever so slowly with each passing second. "But I wish I did not."

Abruptly, she turned away from him, opting instead to face the wall. And for the rest of the day, nothing else could be pried from her lips. Not. A single. Word.

But this time, Thresh felt no anger as he exited her cell. Because this time, he had not emerged empty-handed. Back in the comforts of his own office, Thresh grinned to himself. From the way she spoke, vulnerable and hesitant, and the raw, unbridled emotions worn so openly for him to see, he could tell that a part of her wanted desperately to confide in him. Why had he not seen it before?

Cyrill was merely an excuse. An escape. And now, all forms of escape had been… Duly dealt with. Barricaded. Now, her only option left for any respite at all, was him. She was wounded, and the wounded did not last long when trapped.

Yes. Any path she chose to take would lead only to him. But even after all the unnecessary frustrations she'd caused him, Thresh did not wish to harm her unnecessarily. He probably could not, even if he tried. Not that he wanted to... As to why, he did not know.

For now, he would let her struggle. Let her demons feast upon her instability. Let her be the master of her own undoing.

She would spiral into her own inner turmoil, falling further and further until she hit absolute rock bottom. But what was rock bottom, exactly? He supposed he would recognize it when the time came.

Eventually, she would come willingly to him. And for that, he would wait.

* * *

As it turned out, rock bottom was nowhere in sight. The following days were far less eventful, though Amaranth's condition had deteriorated rather drastically.

She spoke little, if at all, and when she wasn't staring at the wall, her hands were the subject of her vacant gaze. On occasion, she would run one hand over the other. Slowly at first, before escalating to a flurry of movement, as if trying to wring the memories clinging to her flesh.

It had been 5 days since she had awakened from her Mordekaiser-induced slumber. 5 days, and the usefulness of her thoughts had evaporated almost entirely. In spite of that, she chose to churn on in the darkness. Claimed prisoner by an internal war already lost, this sleeplessness was her torture.

Thresh would never admit it, but the rift between them made him uncomfortable. Oddly enough, watching her unravel like this was not as satisfying as he had made it out to be. He didn't like that this crippling bout of depression had been brought on by… External factors.

It was an unpleasant reminder that there were other things able to influence and affect her state of mind. Only he should have the power to do that. He felt like a scavenger, picking up scraps from a kill that was never his in the first place. It just didn't _feel_ right.

She would break eventually, but not under these circumstances. And if he had to mend her broken spirit, then he would personally see to it that her soul was once again made whole. Whole, and completely his for the taking.

* * *

"Here. Drink this." He handed Amaranth a cup of coffee: dark, steaming liquid radiating an aroma rich enough to rouse the dead. It was an uncharacteristically kind gesture, even more so since he had actually brewed the coffee himself.

A brief sharpness returned to her eyes as she inspected the beverage. _Take it,_ his mind growled. As if she had heard him, Amaranth reached out a trembling hand, frail fingers fumbling to grasp the cup. Had her strength failed her so in these past 5 days?

His hands steadied hers, and a rush of warmth returned to her cheeks at the brief contact. For the first time in days, she looked directly at him. Dark circles had made their nest under her eyes, now bloodshot and exhausted.

"Don't worry, it's not poison," He said in an attempt to sound reassuring. "Now, drink."

Slowly, she drank. And then, a grimace formed on her face, the first display of emotion she'd shown in a while. "Ugh. You're sure it's not?"

Thresh tilted his head in confusion. "No, why? I drink this every morning."

"No wonder you're such a grouch…" She muttered. This was good. This was progress, at the very least. "Thank you." Gratitude shimmered in her weary eyes, before she dropped her gaze and continued. "I'm sorry if I upset you the other day."

"You were not in the right frame of mind."

"I still am not." Again, she stared at her hands.

"No, you are not. But I suppose that is why I am here. Though what you make of that is entirely up to you."

He watched her struggle with herself. _Come now Amaranth, come away with me to the slaughter._

"I… I just need time, Thresh."

She was stalling, he could tell. In truth, her mind had already concluded that she needed him. Thresh smiled, a mask of humane understanding shrouding sadistic triumph. "I understand."

Time? He had time. Neither of them was going anywhere. So as far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world. It was only a matter of how long she wanted to keep up this dance of theirs.

* * *

It was 8 days after Amaranth had regained consciousness when he received the news. A single letter sat on his desk, scrolled up and tied with a ribbon. Thresh's eyes scoured over the text once, twice, thrice. It was confirmed.

Cyrill was returning to the Blessed Isles. In less than a week, it seemed. The fates were against him, he decided with disgust, and the parchment crumpled in his hand.

Normally, he would have appreciated the head of Order's efficiency. This was an exception. What if Cyrill decided to pay the vault a visit? (To check in on him or some nonsense like that) Would he be able to guarantee that Cyrill would not take the opportunity to visit Amaranth too?

The answer was, unfortunately, no. And that meant that time was indeed running out. _Think._

He would not be bested by something as absurd as bad timing. The situation was less than favorable, but he refused to be stuck. No, never stuck. Merely forced to come up with a more immediate solution. He preferred that.

 _Forced._ Something clicked in his head. That was it. Though he usually disliked purely aggressive measures, it was the only way. He would force her out of hiding. And he knew exactly how to achieve just that.

* * *

10 days was an impressive amount of time to have gone without sleep, and though his little charade of kindness had progressively softened her up to him, it had hardly helped with her insomnia.

And her moods, it seemed, were more erratic than ever. When he had last seen her (just last night), she was an image of irrational anxiety, terrified by even the slightest movement of shadows across her cell floor.

Now, as he stepped into the room, she seemed eerily at ease. The calm before the storm. As usual, he settled into his chair, placed right beside her bed.

"How are we feeling today, my dear?"

"Better than last night." As it had been for the past week or so, her tone was cordial. Not hostile, but not warm either. Secretly, he missed her usual energy. Perhaps soon, things would resume their normalcy. Whatever normal even was for them anyway.

"Good. Because today, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

Thresh reached into her bag of supplies. He paid close attention to Amaranth's expression as he drew out Mordekaiser's skull, glancing at the hollowed sockets only once before letting the skull rest on his knee.

Horror overwhelmed Amaranth, a knife to the gut slowly twisted, agony splashed across her face. "You have no right." Her voice quaked with the intensity of a hurricane, her rage a time bomb destined for destruction.

Unfazed, Thresh leaned in closer towards her. "My dear, I have the only right."

"No!" She lunged at him vehemently, the hunger of a lion scrawled across her face. With more strength than he imagined possible, she tackled him straight into the wall. That strange crimson glow had returned to her eyes, burning with a hatred unique only to her lineage.

Thresh held very still as slender fingers curled around his neck, a wicked grin stretching across his lips. _**This.**_ _This was his victory._

"You are _**way**_ out of line, Thresh! What the fuck are you playing at?! Bringing that- that thing in here?! To me, of all people?!"

"So what happens now, Amaranth?"

"I don't fucking know! I don't care anymore! I just want-"

"To kill me?"

For a brief moment, she looked at him like he was crazy. Then, her fingers started to close in around his throat, certain to stop only when his windpipe was all but crushed, perhaps not even then.

And that was when it happened. Letting his head loll back slightly in her hands, Thresh laughed. It was the laugh of a madman, chilling and cruel.

"Oh my… You truly are Mordekaiser's heir, and here I was having my doubts."

"What did you say?" The red in her eyes dimmed almost immediately, his words cutting through the havoc wreaked upon her mind.

"You. Mordekasier's heir. It was so very hard to believe at first, mind you."

"I'm not-"

"Don't. Lie. To me." She flinched, releasing her grip on his neck as she recoiled further away from him.

"... What gave me away?"

"A variety of things, though your little performance back there certainly helped. Your temper is really quite breath-taking, Amaranth." His words were sharpened daggers, digging deeper and deeper into the crumbling remains of her defenses. The Warden dusted himself off, feigning ignorance to her distress.

He brushed past the traumatized girl, pausing at the exit only for a moment. "I had my doubts. But now, I am truly convinced. Bravo, Amaranth."

And then he was gone, taking with him the last slivers of light flickering in her eyes, leaving Amaranth nothing but darkness.

* * *

That night, the hallucinations started. Thresh had not been there in person to witness it, but the aftermath was plain for him to see.

Shreds of torn fabric littered the floor, a sprinkling of feathers scattered like snowflakes in every direction possible. In the middle of it all, was Amaranth. She sat in a sea of mutilated sheets, looking even worse than she had over the previous days.

Relief flooded over her when she saw him and before he had the chance to ask, she had rushed up to him, hands gripping his coat tightly.

"Thresh! He was- He was here! Last night, I don't know how, but he was right there." She pointed to the corner of the room, barely able to weave coherent sentences together. "I don't know where he came from, but he just- Just stood there! And then I- I fought with him."

"You fought." He repeated, cynicism dripping in his tone. From the way she'd mangled her pillow and bed, she must have truly believed that there had been an intruder.

"Yes, I did! And he-"

"Miraculously escaped without a trace."

"I-" She took a moment to process his words, realization striking her like lightning.

"As warden of this vault, I assure you no one else has the keys to the citadel except for me."

"Maybe you forgot to lock the entrance when you left!" She insisted. _This was getting ridiculous_ , he thought.

"Do I look like the sort of person who makes mistakes?"

"I swear he was here…" She whispered, eyes scanning the room for evidence. She found none.

"No one was here last night, Amaranth."

"But what if tonight-"

"No one will be here tonight either, Amaranth."

She fell very silent, the tenseness in her stance dissipating.

"Do you… Do you think that could change though?"

"Haven't I already said that only I have complete access to the vault? Perhaps you should consider getting some sleep. Or actually taking more than two bites of your food."

"I meant." Hesitantly, she looked away from him. "Could you stay here, tonight? With me."

 _Oh._ He had not expected that. "You want me to stay."

"I know it's a strange request… And I understand if you might feel awkward about it-"

"I'll stay."

"You will?" Hope blossomed in her eyes, a bud emerging among the carnage.

"Of course I will." For the first time in 11 days, the closest thing to a smile graced her lips. It was a welcome sight. Maybe a broken Amaranth wasn't really what he wanted after all.

 **Author's Note: Hello! Sorry if this chapter took a while, mainly because it was fucking difficult to write. Lots of Thesh-centric thoughts and Amaranth having a meltdown. I didn't quite manage to capture all the desired events in this, but hey, more action for the next chapter I guess. Writing and explaining Thresh's motivations and inner psyche was pretty tough, on top of trying to realistically capture Amaranth's trauma and depression.**

 **I honestly have no idea how this turned out in the end, so please leave a review. I'd like to know where I screwed up, or where I didn't. It really helps :) Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **PM/Review replies:**

 **Since FanFiction appears to be eating some of my PMs and/or delaying the sending of some of my PMs, I'm going to try to reply to all reviews in this section! :D**

 **BeBe6279: D'aww, thank you! (I'm really not that talented lol) And yeah, I realized that the Mordekaiser chapter was pretty confusing, thanks for pointing that out, I've made some edits to make it more clear. Sorry for my rather non-existent update schedule, but I'll do my best to keep the chapters coming!**

 **Maxaro (from Chapt 4): Really can't thank you enough for leaving such a thoughtful review, you already know how much I value your honest feedback, and how much I respect your views as a writer. Thanks for sticking this story out.**

 **A fan of this: Hehe, thanks! Yeah, plot twists are rather difficult to pull off, but I'm glad you found it interesting! School's started and all, and honestly my inspiration is failing me lately but I will definitely try to keep updating :)**

 **Haruzaki: Your wish is my command! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! 'Amazing' is a bit of a stretch if you ask me, but I shall accept the ego-fanning :D**

 **EDGLayla: (in response to the PM) when I got your reply, I was like. Fuck. I actually sent that BEFORE the Mordekaiser chapter was up, but seeing that FF hates me... :P Sorry about that. Must have sounded so stupid, me asking you what you thought of Morde after I'd gone and spoiled everything LOL. As for the bloodline drama, we'll see, I might not have a direct Mordekaiser-Amaranth confrontation until... Much later. As you can tell I have no idea what I'm doing. Anyways, thanks for reading and putting up with all the spam I've thrown at you ^^**

 **Gmp1000: Nice to hear from you again! It's so nice hearing that you enjoyed the changes to Amaranth's backstory. Yes, exactly, you read my mind! I never wanted Amaranth to be unnecessarily OP, but giving her a super shady and dark past seemed justified in this case. Thanks for reading and giving the re-write a chance**

 **Impressed reader: Hehe. Lore-wise, I try :P There's a lot of unexplored potential in Riot's lore, and it's kinda fun to put your own spin on that.**

 **Sorry for the spam. Sorry. But hey, if people take the time to read and review, the least I can do is thank them, right?**


	8. Beginnings

**Author's note: Hello again, dear readers! It's been awhile, hasn't it? Thanks for not giving up on this story :P Also, infinite thanks to Maxaro for beta-reading this, you're AWESOME.**

 **Inspiration for this chapter largely comes from a certain Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Hannibal the TV show) and the FanFiction Anesthesia by Hardwood Studios. "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell was also a pretty good song to listen to while writing the second half of this.**

 **Quick recap: Amaranth has gone pretty much bonkers after being reminded that she is Mordekaiser's heir. She's had hallucinations, insomnia, you name it, she's experienced it. Now she's asked Thresh to stay the night (woohoo, sleepovers) and this chapter picks up right where we left off.**

Thresh blinked, brows creasing slightly with disbelief. It was not in his nature to be caring, and yet…

 _Had he really just agreed to stay the night?_

"You'll stay...?" Amaranth repeated, as if to set his confirmation in stone. "Even after I-..." a shudder rippled through her body. "Even after I tried to choke you."

"Yes, yes, stranger things have happened." _Had they, really? Probably not…_

"What. I almost killed you!"

"I believe that 'almost' is the key word here." He smiled at her, mocking and patronizing at the same time. _Dear, sweet Amaranth. So concerned with his well-being, so blind to her own._

"But I-" a single finger came to rest upon her lips, wordlessly persuasive.

"No buts." There was something about her breakdown that grated on his nerves like nothing else. Yes, she had fallen apart, quite spectacularly so, but the result was rather… disappointing.

It was like the pieces— _yes that was it_ —were all wrong somehow, bits of a puzzle that just didn't fit together precisely the way he wanted. Not his to claim or collect or piece back together… or pick apart.

This had to stop. He would not allow any more harm to befall her. At least, not because of this.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

 _Because you are my ward._ The thought stirred something instinctual within him, feral and dark. He had to keep her safe. _No._ He vowed to keep her safe. It was a protectiveness that bordered dangerously on obsession, rooted in the desire that it'd be him who got to lay claim over her mind and soul.

Thoughtfully, Thresh cast a glance at the feathers lying on the ground, scattered fragments of Amaranth's hallucination-induced hysteria. How oddly poetic. He swooped an arm downwards, gracefully, capturing a feather in his hand.

"Because," he pressed it into her palm quietly, the warmth of twilight's caress in his touch, "The pieces aren't going to pick themselves up now, are they?"

And they both knew, from the way he looked at her, that he was referring to more than just the feathers.

 _Patience._

He did not press further, unobtrusive and quiet. Only strays subjected themselves to the degradation of scrounging for scraps, and he would stoop to no such level.

It was only a matter of time before she sought from him the comfort she so desperately craved. She would give him her fears, her life, her mind. And Thresh found that he would, quite gladly, take everything.

Because when the rabbit bleeds, the wolf comes running… but not to help.

* * *

The knock fell quietly upon his office door, a single beat in the dwindling hours of the day.

"Thresh."

He watched her flutter nervously by the entrance, as if standing on the edge of a precipice.

"Good evening, Amaranth."

For a moment, they stared at each other in a breathless sort of silence, the strangest of courtships between predator and prey. And then she took a step towards him, followed by another, steely resolve rendered in clenched fists.

"Do you- do you have a moment?"

His lips curled in a monstrous smile.

"For you, my dear, I have all night."

She held his gaze, and finally took the plunge, for there was no greater allure than the shade of the night.

* * *

She began her story with the theft of Mordekaiser's skull.

Mordekaiser's revival hinged solely on the condition that his entire skeleton was complete, a form of necromancy so archaic that only his liches knew of its existence.

Cursed into eternal servitude, they would resurrect him each time he seemed to be slain. That is, until the skull vanished.

It happened during the lifetime of Mordekaiser's 8th descendant. A simple yet momentous event, the theft singlehandedly shattered the cycle of Mordekaiser's unholy reincarnation.

Terrified of how the Revenant would react, the liches kept news of the theft hidden from their master.

War soon came, though, unrelenting and steady as waves crashing onto the shore. Besieged and overrun, Mordekaiser's fortress eventually crumbled, as does all things under the unwavering call of the tides.

In his final moments, Mordekaiser's mace was wrenched from his grasp for what seemed like the very last time, and the Revenant himself too, washed away with the ebb of battle.

All that remained to the world of his legacy, was an empty suit of armor. Or so most thought.

But it was never over, of course, and perhaps it never would be.

Because there was strength still in the one thing that the world overlooked: Mordekaiser's bloodline. And all that was strong, did not wither.

The 8th descendant and any remaining survivors of the war relocated themselves to a city north of Mordekaiser's former empire, taking with them a sizable portion of the palace's fortune.

And gold, as it turned out, did much more than glitter.

New guises were soon bought, all too easily, wiping clean the tarnished slates they carried. From the ashes of war, a new flame was woken, burning strong into the years to come.

The 8th descendant forged a new residence for himself and his followers, one that would allow the remains of Mordekaiser's legacy to live on in plain sight.

The years that ensued were shrouded in secrecy, terrible truths buried beneath layers of aristocracy and wealth. And behind their mansion's towering iron gates, they soldiered on together as one household, fragments of Mordekaiser's once-great empire.

Incomplete, but never broken.

That is, until Mordekaiser's 13th descendant was born.

* * *

Amaranth had never known love. Her mother had passed away soon after her birth, and as for father… well, it was no secret that father had tried to… dispose of her from the moment she was born.

Sharp metal had pierced newborn, alabaster skin and Amaranth bled red, condemned to what should have been a most immediate fate. Because "Daughters are not worthy to bear the name of Mordekaiser", and the Iron Revenant's word was sacred law.

But by some inexplicable magic, the 12th descendant recoiled, reeling from an identical puncture through his own chest. They bled together as father and daughter, and the scar they both came to wear across their chests would be the only thing they ever had in common.

* * *

Distantly, Thresh let his mind wander to where the scar was actually located, and what it looked like, among the _other_ things concealed beneath her robes...

"I wasn't born with the ability to heal. That only happened after the healing runes were infused into my flesh. As it turns out, even healing runes can't erase existing scars."

"It seems that you were as randomly lethal back then as you are now. And as vulnerable as ever, it appears, with or without the, ah, healing runes," he leered, trailing a finger along the contours of her face. "It would almost be a pity, if it wasn't so pathetic."

"Don't!"

"Don't what?" Feigning innocence, his words skimmed teasingly over her skin with the razor sharpness of fangs, a predator toying with his catch.

"Don't. Push me. I'm very much on edge right now, and I can't control when I-" she drew a shaky breath, the recollection of her previous outburst equal parts feared and despised. "When I enter that state of anger."

"And how stunning you look, when dressed in rage. You're lucky too, after all, red eyes suit so few," Thresh crooned, almost gently, as his thumb stroked the apex of her cheekbones.

"Thresh, for _fuck's_ sake, cut the bullshit!" Clearly provoked, she swatted his hand away, though it was not enough to prevent a small blush from creeping up her cheeks.

"Rude. I was paying you a compliment," he chastised. "Would your father have condoned such language?"

An eerie stillness overcame Amaranth as she spoke, the customary energy she brought to the room vanishing faster than snowflakes in a warm palm.

"I do not care for my father's approval. Not anymore."

* * *

 _Focus._

 _Jab, with force! Then, leap, forward and high. Swing, kick out to the right. Pivot. Slice, downwards (fingers should not graze the ground). Another kick. One more punch. Leap again, this time flip backwards. Land, gracefully and soundlessly._

 _And then, repeat. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again. And again._

 _Amaranth lands, for the tenth time, nimble and limber. Sweat burns beneath her eyelids, and she grits her teeth, protesting against shrieking, faltering muscles._

 _Her father- no, the 12th descendant (familial ties have no place on training grounds) is impassive as always. He does not shout or point out her mistakes (for there were none), so she assumes that it is a good thing._

 _A barely discernible nod in her direction marks the end of her training session. It is only when her father's (not father, the 12th!) footsteps fade to silence that she allows herself to crumble to the floor in fatigue._

 _All that matters is her father's approval, and for him to approve. She cannot be weak. At least, not in front of him, for weakness is a trait unheard of in Mordekaiser's heirs._

 _But who is (was?) Mordekaiser, exactly? And why was it forbidden to speak his name outside the mansion's walls? Is all this discretion truly meant to protect the purity of her blood, or is it meant to hide something else?_

 _No one in the city even knows of her existence. And the few times she's ventured into the city, she had been warned not to reveal the truths of her lineage. Strange, for a supposed wealthy man's heiress._

 _She questions, and wonders, and hopes. And perhaps if she is worthy enough, father would grant her answers. So she trains, kicking and punching and jumping until the last shreds of strength leave her body._

 _But no matter how flawlessly she performs, no answers come. And it would not be until many years later, that she would finally learn the truth._

* * *

 _The years of training have shaped her into a lithe, lean creature. At 15 years of age, she is young, though the first signs of womanhood have begun to show in the soft curve of her hips and the emerging swell of her chest._

 _There is defiance in the way she carries herself, confidence in the tilt of her head. Like a tigress, she prowls down the arched hallways of home. Amaranth hums something nameless, twirling a knife in her hand._

 _It is customary for Mordekaiser's heirs to be granted a choice of weapon before coming of age, and while most of Mordekaiser's heirs choose swords or axes or spears as weapons, she is the first to display a preference for throwing knives._

 _Soon after, her training sessions became longer and harder. The 12th descendant himself made it a point to occasionally fill the role as her sparring partner. Those sessions in particular were the toughest, almost brutal even._

 _Amaranth likes to believe that it is because father cares, but she cannot help but feel that there is something being withheld from her, like she is being calibrated for a greater purpose._

 _And now father has called upon her personally for a meeting with the liches in the training arena. She has never been invited to any of their meetings before, so this must be important._

 _It ought to be special—perhaps she'll finally be allowed more time off, or maybe even a belated (by 4 months) birthday surprise? She just knew that they wouldn't have forgo-..._

 _She freezes, and all emotion drains from her face. For a moment, Amaranth forgets herself, unable to tear her gaze away from the unknown man mounted against the wall, blindfolded and hung up like a slab of meat._

" _Daughter," the 12th descendant greets her as if there is nothing wrong with the room._

 _She manages a trembling bow. When was the last time he had referred to her as 'daughter'? No, no, no. This is a trick, surely. The hostage twitches against his restraints, whimpering, and her hopes sink._

" _What is-"_

" _Manners, girl!" one of the liches hisses, and she flinches._

" _Esteemed 12th," she dares not look at father in the eye, "What is the purpose of our meeting?"_

" _You have performed admirably, my daughter. It is time we proceed to the last stage of your training."_

 _Praise. Father was actually praising her. On any other occasion, she would have bubbled over with joy. Instead, all she is able to feel is dread._

" _After today, wooden targets and props will no longer be worthy of your skills."_

" _What...?" it is a stupid question, but she asks anyway._

" _It has come to my attention that you are ready to take your place among our ranks. Come." The 12th descendant's tone is not warm, but he rests a hand on Amaranth's shoulder anyway. She cannot recall the last time they exchanged any form of contact. "Whenever you are ready."_

 _He lingers right behind her; watching, waiting. But she can't. Can she? Father is testing her. Father has expectations of her. Father wants her to-…_

 _Amaranth bites her lip. Dare she disappoint?_

 _Instinctively, her hands twitch towards her throwing knives, hoping to the heavens that no one can see the tremors rocking her body._

 _Focus. Focus on her target. Her_ _ **live, writhing**_ _target. One shot is all she needs, and if she throws straight it will be painless, and soundless and over and-_

 _The first knife lodges itself in the man's left arm. She blanches, straightens, and throws again. Shaky hands or not, this time she will not miss._

 _The second lands straight through his gut, and the third, a handspan off from the heart._

 _It is the fourth knife that finally kills, and only then does she steal a glance back at father. He does not quite smile, but he seems almost happy, excited, at what she's accomplished._

 _His lips move, and she has to struggle to make out what is being said. Father says he is proud, that she is one of them._

 _Those are all good things, right? Yes, father put her through a rite of passage, and she has succeeded. Father is proud. All good things._

 _Her gaze falls upon the limp, lifeless body hanging from the wall. She did this. And now, she is being praised for it._

 _Why?_

 _The question echoes in her head, and it takes every last ounce of resolve she has left not to say a word._

* * *

"For the longest time all I wanted was for someone to tell me," Amaranth mumbled, discomfort set in the tenseness of her lips. "Why?"

The question finally came, 7 years late, but it was clear from her wide-eyed despair that she sought an answer from him.

"Why, you ask?" Thresh leaned in towards her, perhaps more than was appropriate. "Because only the insane equate pain with success."

"That is a madman's logic."

"Maybe, but it's still logic nonetheless."

"Then perhaps madness is catching, and you have also been afflicted."

He offered only a small smile in response. "Perhaps. Would you like to find out?"

"If I said yes, would you think me insane?"

He scoffed. "Pft. You barely qualify."

Amaranth's expression, to his fleeting disappointment, failed to brighten. "Then you have judged me too soon."

"Oh? Dissuade me of that notion, if you please."

"After killing him, I felt… I don't know. I wanted to feel something. Anything."

"A sense of enjoyment, maybe? I know I would have."

"No!" she looked horrified now, more at herself than at him. "I felt hollow, like what I did didn't mean anything. And for the life of me, I still can't figure out **why**! It's like it was- or it wasn't," She struggled to find the words, and failed, thrusting her hands up in the air. "I don't know!"

Thresh eyed her meaningfully, the same way the wolf might size up his prey, observant and calculating.

"The kill didn't mean anything to you, because it wasn't intimate."

"What?"

"There was nothing personal about the kill. If I recall correctly, your target was blindfolded, so you most likely couldn't see his face, nor did you know his name. In fact, you barely knew anything about him at all, which is why you felt nothing."

Amaranth's face loosened considerably as she let his words sink in. Twisted as his logic was, all that mattered was that somehow, everything hurt a lot less.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping me understand."

"Always a pleasure." There was no lie in his words. After all, the ability to understand a mind granted many things, including the power to rip it apart.

A shadow flickered across his face as he wondered what other thoughts lay nested in her mind. Surely, they would hatch soon.

"Yes, well. I managed. For a while, at least," she sighed, twirling a lock of ebony hair. "I ran out of the mansion that night. Needed to get out of that damned house. Didn't care where I went. Somehow, I ended up in the city."

"And what comforts did escapism bring?"

"Nothing in particular, but I felt different. In a good way. No one telling me what to do, how to walk, what to say. People were kinder. Happier. And for the first time ever, I felt... free." Her expression softened fondly as she recalled happier times.

"Admittedly, a life behind the bars of nobility does not quite suit you."

"No, not at all. And it only got worse. After my, uh, _rite of passage_ , the missions began," she grimaced, "Sometimes I would be instructed to spy on potential enemies with the liches. Other times, I protected members of the household. And then, sometimes, I would be given a name, someone who had gotten too close to finding out that Mordekaiser's bloodline was alive, and I would… dispose of the threat."

"Mordekaiser himself would be proud, I daresay. Though I am surprised you went through with your… missions. Your family's ideals do seem terribly misaligned with your own."

"I didn't even know who Mordekaiser really was at the time! They only told me that my blood was sacred, that it needed to be protected at all costs. And it made sense to me back then, since we had our fair share of attempted robberies and assassinations..." she paused, thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I was so, so blind."

"To your credit, they worked very hard to blind you."

"And what a waste of their efforts I turned out to be."

"Would you like to share?"

"Not really," she folded into herself, like mimosa leaves shying shut upon the slightest of touches.

"I suppose you've earned some privacy."

The silence that descended between them was only short-lived.

"I made a habit of sneaking off whenever I could. Anytime I could find in between missions, or on my days off, I would disappear into the city. Clear my head. Find a distraction."

"Predictably rash. Though you do have a tendency to run away from your proble-"

"I met someone."

… _Oh._ _ **Oh.**_

"Where. When." It was more of a statement than a question, but the slow beginnings of acerbic rage have already set in, polar cold and white hot at the same time.

"I don't know, in some tavern. I had just returned from a mission. I was tired. Needed to... well; drink. And then he approached me, asked if I was okay. I gave him my name, and we talked." Skittishly, she looked away from him. "It was like this warm glow had settled in my insides."

"You were attracted to him."

"I was." _Was._ Was implied… he resisted the urge to smile. "But he wasn't the only reason I liked sneaking off. I had friends too, in the city."

"Had, Amaranth?"

"Had."

"What happened?"

She seemed to choke on her words, memories unfurling like poisonous smoke into the recesses of her lungs.

"The healing runes happened."

* * *

 _She vaults over the iron-spiked gates of home, her movements like clockwork, fluid and natural._

 _The city streets have become more familiar to her than the corridors of home, cobblestone pavements bleached gray by sunlight, an endless bustle of life on the sides._

 _It has been 6 years since she first scaled the mansion's walls, 6 years since her first kill. She is no longer the trusting, innocent girl craving for her father's approval. Much has changed._

 _She celebrates little these days, but today, there is a skip her steps. Because today, she turns 21, and today, she will celebrate, with friends._

 _Like a gust of rogue wind, Amaranth bursts through the doors to her favorite tavern. The faces that welcome her are familiar, but they do not belong to her friends._

" _Your services are required, 13th."_

 _The liches stand, 13 strong, in the middle of the empty tavern._

 _This can't be right. No one from home knows of her double life, she has been careful, and stealthy and-_

" _Where is everyone?" Her friends. Are they safe? Alive? She has to know. Needs to know. (Does she truly wish to know?)_

" _If you wish to know, you will return home at once."_

 _And suddenly, she feels viciously cold, icicles hanging low and fragile from her insides._

" _How did- how did you know about this place? About them?"_

 _Nameless, faceless wraiths stare back at her, ominous and sinister._

" _We always knew."_

 _And then they are gone._

* * *

 _The truth, as they say, falls like dominoes once it is set into motion._

 _All these years, she has wished for father to be truthful with her. Today, the truth is finally upon her, and the dominoes have fallen. And now she is the one who is falling. So she falls, and falls, through decades (centuries, actually) of lies and horror and darkness._

 _Father speaks of Mordekaiser's greatness, his battles, his triumphs. He speaks as though he expects her to marvel and embrace the truths of her lineage. He speaks some more, until she no longer wishes to know the truth._

" _Why are you telling me this now?"_

 _She is restrained, bound tightly by some garment the liches have forced onto her._

" _Because, daughter, today, you have finally come of age. Today, we celebrate! Because today, we seal your immortality!" There is an undercurrent to father's words that she cannot quite place, and all of sudden she feels very weak._

 _She does not find her voice until moments later, and when she does, only a strangled whisper comes out._

" _How?"_

" _You were always destined for greater things, Amaranth," the 12th descendant ushers her further down the stairwell. She fidgets, attempting to break free, and fails. Straitjackets do not suit her. "Ever since your birth, it was decided that your abilities are a gift from Mordekaiser himself, a sign that our legacy is truly untouchable, even by time itself."_

" _But I'm not untoucha-"_

" _You are not. Not yet, at least. But you will be. Over the years of your development, the liches have mastered an art of runic magic that will enable you to_ _ **heal**_ _from all wounds, once the runes are infused into your flesh."_

" _You were raising me like some weapon all this time," Amaranth deflates, eyes shimmering wetly. "You were waiting, until I was-" she flounders for words, looking like misery incarnate. "Until I was old enough for your experiment!"_

 _The 12th descendant's gaze turns cold, his eyes are glassy and black._

" _Insolent child! I would not waste such blessings on you, if not for your existing powers."_

" _It's a curse, not a blessing, and I_ _ **refuse**_ _!" she yells, for the first time ever, and there is stunned silence all around._

" _You do not have a choice." The dungeon doors swing open, and Amaranth is thrust inside. She is not alone. "Unless of course,_ _ **their**_ _fates are inconsequential to you?"_

 _The 12th descendant gestures offhandedly to her friends, chained and mounted to the walls. Just like the man from her first kill. Only this time, there is no blindfold, and this time, it is so very personal. From their hopes and dreams, to their sorrows and regrets, she knows them all. And soon, she will know their screams too._

" _Leave them out of this... please..." she lacks conviction, but the stricken can only shake and stammer and plead in times of crisis. "Please! I accept."_

" _What is that now, daughter?"_

" _I said I accept the damned healing runes!"_

 _Grey eyes flicker momentarily to the color red, and the 12th descendant beams. It is the first time she has ever displayed such rage._

" _Good. We shall proceed as planned then."_

 _She is chained to a chair in the middle of the room, facing all of her friends. They avoid eye contact with her, heads drooping and bodies tensed. A small part of her breaks, and she knows that no amount of runic magic will ever be able to heal her._

 _And then the liches surround her, chanting and murmuring indecipherable things. The room glows a dark, ominous red, and the air quakes with power. There is a breath of nothingness before she finally feels it._

 _It starts with a warm buzzing in her skin, and it grows and grows until she feels like all the flesh is being ripped straight off her body. It is pain that is blinding, paralyzing, and her head spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. And then she is falling (again, with the falling) into darkness, a dreamless sort of sleep._

 _She does not remember anything that happens next._

* * *

 _There is a wet slickness on her cheeks that rouses her from her slumber. Groggily, she pulls herself into an upright position. She is suddenly aware that the air smells and tastes like iron._

 _No. Not iron._ _ **Blood.**_

 _Aching eyelids fly open, and reality comes like a slap to the face. Mangled carcasses lie scattered around her, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. Where smooth skin had once been, there is only torn muscle and blood, and the whiteness of bone shining out from a sea of flesh._

 _She scrambles to her feet, and stumbles, slipping on the viscous layer of dark red coating the floor. Blank, vacant faces stare up at her, a whitish glaze over each pair of eyes. Familiar eyes._

 _No._ _ **No!**_ _She cannot possibly have done this to her friends, she would_ _ **never**_ _\- her eyes fall upon her restraints, broken and ripped apart by some monstrous force._

 _And then it all comes trickling back to her, in bits and pieces of warped images and blurred memories, until she can no longer deny, that this, is her doing._

 _She tries to run, away from here, away from all of this, but in her haste she trips, and falls, grazing her elbow._

 _Small droplets of blood form, and she feels quite sore. But then, something pulses through her, a rippling sort of sensation, and the wound closes in on itself until it is no more._

 _It worked. Her father's little experiment…_ _ **worked.**_

 _She gags, and tries to scream. And when no sound comes out, she drops to her knees, burying her face in bloodstained hands. No tears come either._

* * *

 _A week of self-loathing and denial goes by, filled with sleepless nights and empty thoughts._

 _Every passing day, she wishes she could die. And so she tries. But whether it is shattered mirror shards digging into her wrists, or flinging herself off the balcony, she cannot die._

 _She cannot die, and it is a cruel reminder of who she is, what she is capable of… what her entire family is capable of, especially father. Father…_

 _Father is as good as dead to her now._

 _As good as dead?_

 _She sits up, and the beat that pulses through her is quick and heavy._

 _She cannot die, but she knows who can._

 **Author's Note (again. Sorry): Thresh flirts in weird ways. That is all. Man, I've missed all of you here on FF. Thank you all for reading, following and reviewing, hope you enjoyed this chapter :)**

 **P.S: I'm personally quite proud of some of the AmaThresh dialogues in this, but of course, let me know what you thought!**

* * *

Review/PM replies:

ANIMEFORDAYSXD: Aw, thanks! Trust me, if Rito asked me to write lores, I would literally ditch everything and go do it.  
EDGLayla: Here's the rest of it! :D sorry for the wait hehe. Now it's my turn to wait on the Silver Crossbow ;) Thanks for the support, dear.  
Haruzaki: Ahhh, I'm honored! Sorry this took so long. Thank you for the very kind words :)  
sristy07: I know I promised some romance in this, but stuff happened and I had to shift it to next chapter. SO SORRY. Oh, I'm really glad that you like the 'new' storyline :)  
Betrayed By Your Mind: Thanks, I hope to keep things interesting. With Thresh it's really not all that difficult to do :p  
guisniperman: Haha damn right you are. We'll see how Morde deals with it in the future :O  
Maxaro: You, my good sir, are too kind. Thank you for all the ego-fanning so far. -wipes tear- And most of all, thank you for your (very appreciated) opinions on this. Cya next chapter!


	9. Absolution

**A/N: Hello everyone, I'm back with a new chapter! Although... I must say that I have no idea whether this chapter is any good. And since I'm unsure, I'll just wave around this warning of OOC-ness, poor dialogue and flow so choppy it'll probably sink an entire navy. Sorry :( I think I've become rusty at writing. Please comment on how I could improve!**

 **Quick recap: Sooooo. The chapter picks off after Amaranth tells Thresh all about her past, and how she came to be his prisoner. As always, thank you for reading :)**

* * *

 _Her friends are dead. Her father is dead (it was easy, like gutting a pig). Now, it is only a matter of time before Mordekaiser's liches come after her._

 _But how do you even kill the undead?_

 _It is a question that Amaranth cannot answer. So instead, she runs. As fast as her feet can carry her, as far away as the roads will take her, she runs, with the wind in her hair, adrenaline surging in her veins._

 _She does not stop until she meets a silver-haired man with twinkling, turquoise eyes. He listens to her like a father would (but she has no father. No family. No friends.), and assures her that she never has to run again._

 _With warm, wrinkled hands, he beckons her to the shores of the Blessed Isles. For a moment, Amaranth is unconvinced, tempted by the spoils of wanderlust._

 _She asks him if she will be incarcerated, if the prisons of the Blessed Isles are of any quality at all. (foolish girl. Not even a fortress can weather her wrath.)_

 _The strange, kind man named Cyrill chuckles, and says that she does not belong in a prison full of rambunctious men._

 _He speaks instead of confinement in a vault full of magical artifacts, away from the lecherous stares and lewd catcalls of prison filth. With his offer comes the promise of complete confidentiality; no one will ever know who she is, or what she's done._

 _It is a fair deal, if not generous, and Amaranth accepts._

* * *

"A rather dull end to an impressive display of cruelty, if I may say so myself," Thresh remarked flatly.

"There is nothing _impressive_ about what I did!"

"No? Shame."

Thresh frowned, mildly disappointed that Amaranth held no admiration for her own handiwork. A _dreadful waste of her potential. What was to be be done about that?_

" _ **No,**_ " she repeated through gritted teeth, "Only the wicked delight in misery and ruin."

"And herein lies your entire problem. You indulge in bursts of destruction and then berate yourself for it once the dust settles."

"It is not indulgence if it is involuntary!"

"Involuntary?" A cruel laugh erupted from his throat, "That is very nearly believable."

"Am I really supposed to care what you think?"

"No, the only thoughts that have ever mattered to you are your own," Thresh paused, and the glint in his eyes turned wicked, "But lately your thoughts have become a bit of a burden, haven't they?"

"The truth is often a burden."

"Only to those who deny it."

"I'm not denying anything!"

"False. There is much that you deny, Amaranth. Your past, your powers, your true nature. You would deny them all, if given a choice."

"And since I don't _have_ a choice, what does that make me? No different from Mordekaiser and the rest of them! Evil by nature. How fucking lovely," Amaranth answered bitterly, pretty features drawn tight in a forced smile.

An evil Amaranth. _Hilarious._ He watched her fidget uneasily across the table from him, content to observe the curious flutters of this fascinating, misguided woman.

"It makes you destructive. Not evil."

"Two sides of the same coin."

"Destruction is evil? Storms are evil too then, if it were that simple."

"That's different," she argued, "A storm is cruel, yes, but it doesn't mean to be. Destruction is in its nature."

"Can the same thing not be said of people? Of _**you**_?"

Amaranth paled visibly as she dropped her gaze from his, fists clenching tightly around the fabric of her robes.

"A most unpleasant metaphor, if you ask me."

Gracefully, Thresh rose from his seat, making no noise at all. He rounded the table, footsteps ghosting lightly on the ground. Amaranth appeared not to notice, too caught up in staring at her own feet.

"You need to realize, dear Amaranth, that storms, just like people, are devastatingly beautiful, if only one dared to look."

"Is that what you see when you look at me?"

And then he was suddenly far too close, the steady rhythm of his breaths beating gently down on her own face.

"Why else would they name storms after people?"

Any response she might have had died instantly as a tense sort of silence fell between them, one that involved too much confusion and not enough answers, his lips hovering dangerously over hers.

"I feel like I've dragged you into my world of madness," she managed to whisper at last.

"I got here on my own," Thresh replied casually as he pulled away from her, drawing a barely audible sigh of relief from trembling lips, "But I appreciate the company."

"Rather terrifying company."

"Nonsense," he snorted, "The only person you terrify is yourself. And that is only because you refuse to accept who you are."

"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that."

"I am hardly in a state to judge anything."

At once, his tone turned prying and vicious, "Why is that? Having trouble sleeping, hm?"

"You know very well why!" She snapped angrily back at him, "Every time I close my eyes, I see Mordekaiser, or my father, or my dead friends. And when I'm awake, I feel this… buzzing. Like there's something _dark_ twisting and turning in the back of my head. Sets my fucking teeth on edge."

"You would let this… darkness paralyze you. Terrify you. Rob you of all functional thought."

"Dark things tend to do that."

Thresh fell silent for awhile, deep in thought, and the night wore tirelessly on.

"Darkness is only terrifying if you do not understand it."

Amaranth blinked, the slow, subtle dawnings of realization creeping gently through the dense loom of her clouded thoughts.

"I still don't quite-"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come. There is something you need to see."

* * *

She scrambled after him as he led the way through the inky depths of winding hallways, the pale green glow of his lantern casting long, flickering shadows across dusky slate floors.

The soft cadence of his boots came to a still as they approached a collection of familiar artifacts.

"Do you remember these?" He gestured idly to the objects.

"Yes. That's the living book, and that's the haunted mirror," she replied, still thoroughly confused.

"Good. Now tell me something. Do these artifacts terrify you?"

"No. Not at all." _Huh._ She wondered where he was going with this.

"Because you understand how each one works. As do I," Thresh turned to face her, a hand brushing her shoulder briefly, and she shuddered at their proximity, "That is why I can torture them so well. That is why their darkness does not terrify you."

"I can accept wickedness in objects, and perhaps even in other people," she stole a quick glance at him, "But to accept that about myself…" she faltered, "I do not wish to think of what I could become."

"You cannot become anything or anyone else but yourself. Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself, and it _**demands**_ , above all else, to be recognized. Deny it, and it will continue to rain hell upon your mind."

The words were spoken almost gently, dark undertones rolling restlessly in the low timbre of his voice.

"What would you have me do?"

"Understand it. Embrace it. Only then, will you truly feel…" his eyes fluttered shut, darkly handsome features loosening in one of the most chilling smiles she'd ever seen, " _ **Alive.**_ "

Amaranth could only stare, breathless, as dim shadows danced softly across the harsh contours of his face. How strange it was, that she had never found him more beautiful than he was now, when there was nothing but cruelty aching in his bones and madness in his soul.

 _Why else would they name storms after people?_

His words echoed in her head, and suddenly, she became vaguely aware of the faint, familiar feeling that she was falling, yet again, into darkness, into madness, into… him?

Yes, she was definitely falling. The only difference was that this time, she didn't quite mind.

"I think," she started, "I understand now."

"Do you, really?"

She appeared to struggle with conviction, but steeled herself, buoyed by the promise of closure and… something else.

"Not entirely, but I will try. I want to try. And you'll-" she hesitated, "You'll help me, right?"

For a brief, agonizing moment, she thought he would say something, do something that would bring the horrors thundering back, like a hurricane tide breaking onto shore.

 _Fool. Fool!_ Her mind shrieked back at her. _There was no method to this madness, no comfort in darkness, unlike the lies he'd have her believe. Who would have her- this wretched, deadly disaster of a woman? Who would possibly-_

"Every step of the way."

His words clung intimately to the crisp, midnight air. A promise. And it was like the weight of the entire world had been lifted from her shoulders. Amaranth smiled, a warm beacon of hope shining through the troubled, grim set of her lips.

She understood. She was strong. Proud. Just like Mordekaiser; unlike Mordekaiser.

"So what's step one?"

"Step one," he answered, ushering her forward with a strong hand warming in the low, gentle dip of her back, "Is sleep."

"Sleep." Amaranth tottered forward clumsily. "I can do that, I think."

She let out a massive yawn, finally feeling the effects of what had been an arduously long night, and when they finally reached her cell she had all but collapsed onto the cotton sheets, limbs flailing and hair sprawled out magnificently beneath her.

Thresh cast her a long, searching look, before turning at last, to leave. To his surprise, slender fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist, as Amaranth tugged furtively at his arm.

"Wait," she mumbled, half-asleep, "Stay. Please."

Wordlessly, he positioned himself awkwardly at the edge of her bed, and watched, as the tired, weary girl sighed comfortably at his presence. It was… oddly pleasant.

Sleep came in the form of a dreamless, peaceful kind of darkness. In the moments before she drifted off into sweet, well-deserved nothingness, Amaranth thought again on Thresh's words. His touch. His voice.

She smiled to herself, and for the very first time, she truly felt untouchable.

* * *

Thresh was tired. He liked to think himself infallible, but it had been a trying, roller-coaster of a night, and he was, genuinely, exhausted.

Perhaps there was some satisfaction to be found in his fatigue. _No,_ he corrected, as he glanced at the slumbering girl next to him, _plenty of satisfaction._

Amaranth's mind, as Thresh understood it, would never be whole (he wanted something new and pristine, not old and battered) unless she fully accepted who she was. And now, she was finally beginning to _**see**_ , to embrace the ideals he had so meticulously planted in the delicate tangle of her thoughts.

He supposed that his actions had been helpful to her in that sense, and to a greater extent, himself. For so long, he wanted to see, to know and to _possess_. Now, he finally did.

He would keep Amaranth in his grasp, like a rare, silver-winged songbird caged safely under lock and key, treasured and coveted above all other things.

 _Truly magnificent,_ he thought, propped against the wall as he continued to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest.

Thresh extended a hand towards Amaranth, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with his thumb. Almost immediately, he was consumed by something dark and instinctual, an itch of the soul that yearned to pick apart and piece together, but never fully destroy, as was the inescapable fate of all great puzzles.

He would teach her to revel in ruin, darken her according to his wishes, toy with her, and perhaps then, when the right moment presented itself, he would revel in hers.

 _Yes, this._ _ **This,**_ _was worth it._

He exhaled a long breath, heavy eyelids slowly drooping shut.

It was only when Amaranth's head lolled onto his lap, sleepy creature that she was, that Thresh began to wonder if he could deny her at anything.

* * *

She did not recall her bed being quite this uncomfortable. Groggily, Amaranth screwed her eyes shut, protesting against the sting of daylight. Dissatisfied, she nuzzled her head further into- _Wait. What. This was definitely_ _ **not**_ _a pillow._

"Gah!" She tumbled out of bed with all the grace of a newborn foal, realizing just _who_ she had fallen asleep on. "What the fuck, Thresh?!"

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine."

Though his answer was sharp, the Warden looked tired. And relieved too, that she had (finally) woken up. _Oops._ She imagined that he probably didn't have a very comfortable night.

"I'm sorry," she offered him a sheepish, apologetic grin as he dusted himself off, "It's just been a while since I've woken up in bed with a man, that's all."

Thresh raised a single brow. "A while?"

"You seem surprised, Thresh."

His jaw twitched unreadably, but otherwise, his expression remained neutral.

"I suppose as Mordekaiser's descendant, it is in your nature to embark on… _Conquests_."

She waited for the flow of disgust, of repulsion at the mention of Mordekaiser's name. Oddly enough, none came. _How interesting._

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you make a habit of this, and we'll find out!" She giggled, stretching lazily under the covers.

"Are you saying," Thresh began with unmasked disapproval, "That you wish _**me**_ to be another one of your conquests?"

She met his contempt with a sly, impish smirk.

"Or I could be one of yours."

 _There_ was the Amaranth he knew. Thresh tried very hard not to smile. He failed.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0: Yeeeeah, so. I really don't know how this turned out. I'm sorry if it wasn't to your taste, or if this chapter was just plain bad/disappointing. I am VERY OPEN to criticism (and praise of course), so PLEASE review! It really keeps me going to hear from you! Till next time~**

Review/PM replies:

Haruzaki: Aw! You are too sweet! It's really nice to hear that you liked Amaranth's backstory, I know how OCs can sometimes be a hassle to read about, so that makes my day! :)  
EDGLayla: Hello, dear! Wooh, looks like I kept my promised to update after all, even if this chapter is in my opinion, rather poorly written. Expect a review from me soon! :D Also, thank you for EVERYTHING so far ^^  
guisniperman: Haha yes, Thresh in denial is pretty amusing isn't it :P Thank you for your review, although I apologize because Mordekaiser probably isn't going to appear/react to Amaranth's existence until much later in the story. Hope you'll stick around until then!  
sristy07: Ahhh, yes, thank you! Jealous Thresh is so very fun to write hehe, glad you enjoyed it! As for your praise, as always, it's very appreciated :) sorry for the short chapter this time round btw :/  
iHookGirls: Hellooooo there! :D Thank you for giving this story a read, and yes, I know EDGLayla and The Silver Crossbow too :) Ugh, it makes me so happy to hear that you like my version of Thresh! I hope you got the answers you were looking for about the sleepover in this chapter ;)  
zRedgrave: As you already know, I literally got freaking BUTTERFLIES when I read your review. It's so humbling to hear such amazing words from a reader. I'm gonna be honest, my story really isn't that deserving of the word 'masterpiece' :P I'm just a person who likes Thresh, and writes about Thresh. That being said, I hope to hear more from you, and see you in the next chapters!


	10. Tainted

**A/N: Happy New Year, dear readers! Here's wishing you a wonderful year ahead :D**

 ***** READ THIS *** So, I'm putting this out here as a sort of disclaimer, or a warning, before we get to the chapter. This chapter's a weird one I'll say, definitely the strangest of the lot so far. It starts off fluffy, and then turns dark, and then well, I don't know, it gets really, REALLY weird. Just skip over parts that aren't to your taste, I suppose. My apologies if any of this is unpleasant to read. As always, I have no idea where I actually went with this...**

 **Hmm, what else. "I'm Still Here" by the Goo Goo Dolls was a pretty good listen for the first 'section' of this, so give it a try if you like :) As for the rest of it... "End of All Days" by 30 Seconds to Mars was also pretty helpful in writing, uh, _certain_ parts. Well, that's enough from me, on to the actual story!**

* * *

Thresh stayed more often these days.

Amaranth wasn't very sure why he did, or what his actions were supposed to imply, but she wasn't going to ruin a good thing by asking questions that didn't need to be asked.

By day, he would resume the regular activities of his job, an enthusiastic onlooker (and at times, assistant) bobbing eagerly at his heels. On occasions when he was truly occupied with work, Amaranth would wander the vast, empty passages of the vault by herself.

More often than not, she would find herself lost in the serpentine backbone of corridors twisting its way through the citadel. There were times when she'd gotten so disoriented that she truly feared she would never find her way back to Thresh's office or her cell again, doomed to wander the endless hallways for an eternity.

Was she exaggerating? Yes, but the vault was a desolate place, and she sometimes wondered how Thresh managed to navigate the hallways with such ease, or if he ever felt the loneliness of it all.

 _But the real question was, could Thresh even feel such a thing as loneliness? Could he, too, grieve and envy and lust as did all mortals alike?_

Amaranth shook her head. That was the least of her worries.

Hastily, she scurried around yet another corner, cursing and mumbling under her breath. Today had been one of _those_ days, where the odds seemed hellbent on betraying her.

She'd been gone for what must have been a few hours now, lost once again in the maze of tunnels. Making a final turn into yet another passageway, she saw, at long last, the familiar cascade of pale yellow light emanating from Thresh's office.

 _Oh, sweet victory!_

Amaranth broke into a small sprint, tired and relieved and _eager_ to see the Warden. Her only hope, was that Thresh wouldn't have noticed her absence. And so given her luck, _of course_ he did.

"My prisoner has finally decided to grace me with her presence," Thresh droned lazily, "Would you have me bow, or simply keel over with joy?"

"Oh, shut up Thresh," Amaranth groaned, "I was only gone for a bit."

"You vanished for half a day." Without sparing her a single glance, he answered levelly, keeping his attention firmly focused on the scroll in his hands.

She balked. "Half a day?!"

"Took a little detour, I presume?"

"No." Scowling, Amaranth crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"Fancied yourself a long, leisurely walk?"

" _No._ "

"Or have you become so tired of my company that-"

" _ **No!**_ " As quickly as it had risen, her voice then shrank to a squeak, "I uh, got a little lost that's all."

His gaze shifted sharply towards her, green eyes riddled with both scorn and amusement.

"A little lost, you say?"

"I… might have taken a wrong turn or two."

"Or perhaps three."

"It's a big vault, Thresh."

"To small minds, I suppose."

"Hey!" she protested, "Is it my fault your office is so damned hard to find?"

"Hard to find?"

"Yes! I must have circled the place with all those ancient scrolls at least thrice!"

"The athenaeum?"

"Is that what it's called? Whatever. Point is. It takes fucking _forever_ to find your office from the athae-, athen- argh! That place."

"There is a shortcut that links… _that place_ to my office," he replied in measured tones, making very sure that his voice remained flat, "Just under the eastern stairwell, in fact. How it has eluded you is entirely beyond me."

"Wait, really?" Amaranth blinked, "Wow. Who would have known?"

"Most likely yourself, if you were not so dim-witted."

"I'm not dim-witted!"

"That is highly debatable."

"It is not!"

Thresh allowed a devilish smirk to push through the indifference stamped across his lips, almost as if he had simply been biding his own time before casting the bait.

"Then prove it."

"And how would you propose I do that?"

"Hm." There was a deliberate pause, "Fetch me the scroll of Barad Dur in a timely fashion, and I shall be convinced."

She stared at him in disbelief, "Fetch?! I will do no such thing!"

"Why not?"

"Because you can't order me around like some… boneheaded _pet_ of yours, that's why!"

" _Or_ ," his grin widened deviously, "Perhaps you truly _are_ dim-witted after all, and haven't the faintest idea where the scroll actually is."

Amaranth pursed her lips, indignance flooding over her pretty features, grey eyes narrowed to slits.

"Fine, have it your way!" she spat, "I'll get you the damn scroll."

Throwing him a final withering glance, Amaranth stormed off, once again, in the wrong direction.

And that, was how it started, their little game.

Thresh would name an artifact or a scroll, and Amaranth would map what she perceived to be the quickest route to retrieve the aforementioned object. Whether or not he actually intended for her to hone her navigational skills (or lack thereof) remained largely disputable.

Sometimes, when Thresh was in a particularly vexing mood, he would trail after her, nipping away at her heels like a very persistent, very condescending ghost.

She suspected that he often gave her the most obscure objects to locate solely for the twisted entertainment of watching her agonize over which turn to take, or where her path was even to begin.

 _Smug bastard._

But this irritation with him she came to realize, was only passing, and in time Amaranth found that she had (to her slight horror) taken a liking to the little quests he issued to her.

For one, her days in the citadel were no longer dulled by the monotony of prison life. Of course, not forgetting, that she actually felt far less like a prisoner, and more like the Warden's... friend? Were they friends? Were they… more?

Again, she could never be sure, and perhaps such things were best left uncertain. What she did know though, was that she liked whatever it was that they had. And absurd as it was to even think it, she sensed that Thresh, mocking and caustic as he might be, liked it too.

* * *

And so time passed between them like the subtle, fluid turning of pages in a book. Their interactions remained mostly innocent under daylight's veil, each slowly but surely learning the other's quirks and habits.

For Thresh, that meant observing the subtle nuances of her mannerisms, every quizzical tilt of her head and twitch of the fingers stowed neatly away in his memory. Every day she gave him something more, her strengths, her weaknesses, guileless lamb crawling haplessly into the belly of the ever-watchful beast.

Like smoke through a keyhole, he furled into her life (and she into his), silent and dangerous and utterly intoxicating. Although... something had changed. They were _closer_ somehow, and it showed.

It showed in the increasing absence of the Warden's usual sneer when he spoke to her, and the long, lingering looks Amaranth would cast him when she thought he wouldn't notice. And it showed most of all, when nightfall beckoned.

Amaranth lay sprawled out on her bed, twirling a lock of hair absentmindedly. It was one of those nights, where her thoughts had burrowed deep into her heart, clinging onto tense shoulders and a restless mind.

"Ah, question."

"Of course."

Thresh sat poised in his usual seat next to her bed, _for the eighth night this month_ , his mind cautioned.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to do it?"

"Do what, my dear?"

"Accept this whole… Mordekaiser's descendant thing. Completely. Without any uh, _unsavory_ side effects."

 _Ah. This again. This… doubt._ He had to guide her somehow, this hesitant fledgeling of his.

"Perhaps one day, you will."

"You really think that's possible?" she propped herself up, grey eyes shimmering with earnest hope, "Even for me?"

Thresh turned his piercing gaze towards her, green eyes bearing more gravity than possibly imaginable.

"Just like our eyes, our souls too, have a way of adapting to darkness. In time."

There was something sinister in his expression as he answered, voice low and rumbling.

"I suppose you're right… as always."

Amaranth sighed, her expression brooding and pensive. While she pondered on his words in subdued silence, Thresh swept a glance over the entirety of her form. She was a lithe creature, yes, but Thresh ventured a guess that she was all lean muscle underneath her robes…

"Would you rather me be wrong?"

"No, no, it's not that," she sighed, "it's just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't know if that is a path I wish to walk. It just sounds so…" she hesitated, "Lonely. Like wolves in a world of lambs. Shunned. Outcast."

"Feared."

"And what exactly are wolves to do with fear?"

"They hunt," his tone betrayed the slightest touch of pride, of predatory arrogance, "As do all things untouchable."

Amaranth smiled. There was comfort in his words. Always.

"Perhaps one day, I will."

And then it was his turn to smile.

He would often offer her his thoughts like this, twisting allegories and turning phrases to nudge her in the right direction. _His_ direction. Each word was a gift, hand-wrapped and placed in the boughs of her mind, due in time to blossom.

 _In time._

Under the cover of darkness, he revealed to her the very things that would haunt her subconscious in the dead of the night, both dreadful and beautiful, repulsive and enchanting.

Night after night, Amaranth drank from the sweet poison of his words, and Thresh would watch in near-exhilaration, as the formless menace coiled deep into her guts and flowed through her veins.

Sometimes, he hungered to devour her tainted soul, to reach out from his abyss and overwhelm her every sense. She would follow him, this herald of ruin, into the depths of madness, to the very edge of light where darkness begins.

 _Together._

Their souls were intertwined now, and while both appeared to be tempting fate, neither seemed to know it.

* * *

This was a bad idea. _**He**_ was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

But as Amaranth collided soundlessly onto her bed, pinned beneath the Warden's full weight, she realized that she didn't quite mind at all.

She had no recollection of how they'd even come to this, only the faint memory of a touch that lingered for far too long and eyes that betrayed too much.

His lips burned hot into hers, sending jolts of ice hot fire down her back. She returned the kiss with fierce boldness, trembling hands smoothing up his back. In turn, he continued to maul her lips with a passion she hadn't thought him capable of, leaving her lips tender and certain to bruise.

With a hiss, he pulled back from her as she lay, breathless and panting beneath him. And then he turned his attack to the crook of her neck, pressing his tongue into her pulsing, flushed skin.

Amaranth felt desire dawn upon her like never before, his lips coaxing shivers from her spine. She wanted this, no, _needed_ this.

"Thresh," she gasped.

He stopped abruptly, as if deciding if he liked the way his name sounded from her lips. Green eyes met grey in a thunderous crash, and suddenly she felt very afraid. There was an undercurrent to his lust that warned of danger, the kind that made her vaguely aware of why people chased after storms, or sailed into treacherous seas.

His smile broadened unnaturally, white teeth glinting like fangs in the dim glow of his lantern, and Amaranth knew at once that there was no turning back.

With unnerving deftness, his scythe tore through the fabric of her robes. She shuddered slightly under the gust of cool air that breezed over her bare skin, body tensed in anticipation.

Thresh hummed, satisfied with the sight of this pleading mess of a woman lying helpless before him. He lowered himself onto her, and their fronts met intimately while he traced gentle fingers down her slender curves.

She gasped when he grabbed her full, luscious breasts with both hands, thumbs trailing teasingly over the rose pink buds of swollen nipples. Clumsily, Amaranth leaned up and captured his mouth in a heated, desperate kiss.

He tasted like freedom. And ruin. And she wanted him, oh, how she wanted him. Thresh growled, almost threateningly, as he tore away from her, eyes clouding over with carnal greed upon inspecting the round, soft mounds of her breasts.

With his hands, he continued his assault on her heaving chest, kneading and squeezing his way to badly-stifled moans from Amaranth. She jerked reflexively into him as he clamped his lips over a pert, sensitive nipple, drawing circles around her breasts with his tongue.

Her own fingers dug deep into Thresh's inky black locks, willing his mouth to explore every inch of her raw, exposed body. Every caress of his sent a dizzying explosion of sparks through her mind, heat blossoming in her chest like a roaring inferno.

She groaned in tortured frustration when he stopped once again, his cheshire grin gleaming in the shadows. Gradually, he prised her legs apart, fingers clasped firmly around her knees.

Amaranth felt her breath hitch as the Warden ran his tongue along the smooth, lean contours of her inner thigh. A mixture of panic and excitement washed over her, helpless creature held within the devil's embrace.

Hot breath washed over the slick entrance of her sex, and the two stared unblinkingly at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

He inhaled the sweetness of her scent, purring with smug satisfaction at her arousal. Amaranth froze as he ran a calloused finger along the moist lips of her slit, craving and yearning and wishing for more. Blood thundered in her ears, her excitement spiking feverishly close to breaking point.

"Thresh," she breathed, "Please."

For the first time since they'd collapsed into her bed together, he spoke.

"Please what, Amaranth?"

His voice echoed eerily throughout the room, like it had been amplified and hollowed out a thousand times over. It was strangely alien... yet familiar at the same time.

"Please," she begged, her arousal continuing to pool between her legs, "I want this."

"This?" He arched a brow at her, cynical beast of a man.

She drew a shaky breath, fighting against her own thundering pulse, "You. I want you."

He smirked, victorious, and dove into the fray, ravenous wolf to the hunt.

In the most agonizing fashion, he slid a finger into the soaked, wanting need of her womanhood, exploring every exquisite ridge and edge of her inner walls.

A breathy moan tore from her throat as she writhed and thrashed with pleasure. Slowly, he added another finger to her drenched, tight sex. He then began to pump his fingers in and out of her at an increasing pace, eliciting more moans of encouragement with each ripple of pleasure he brought her.

Amaranth's fingers curled tightly around her sheets, head swimming with ecstasy while the Warden continued to bring her closer and closer to the edge. With a final, rough thrust, he pulled his fingers out of her, the sticky nectar of her fluids trickling quietly down her thigh.

Before she could even respond to the sudden change, his head dipped beneath the crest of her thighs, and he plunged his tongue into her dripping folds. She felt his warm tongue snake its way into her snatch, filling the aching void between her hips.

Thresh continued his ministrations, rewarding her desire for him with his roaming tongue, hands clenched around her firm buttocks. And then he flicked his tongue, crafty, cruel instrument of pleasure, against her throbbing core, sending fresh shocks of pure bliss coursing through her.

Amaranth arched her hips towards his mouth, enraptured by each intensifying sensation he granted her. The beginnings of her climax threatened to break like a tsunami crashing onto land, body quivering limply.

"Thresh!" she cried, "Thresh, please! Don't stop!"

In complete surrender, she thrust her head back into her pillow as Thresh paid silent heed to her request. With one last flick of his tongue, Amaranth's orgasm closed in on her, primal tremors rippling through her like an earthquake. Breathless, she rode out the waves of pleasure, crying out his name countless times as white hot sparks streaked across her vision. When it was over, she went limp, eyes fluttering shut in content. She felt him shift between her legs, a dull, soreness left in his wake.

And then suddenly his touch turned deathly cold, icy fingers making themselves at home on her hips. His grip tightened, painfully, burning with the ferocity of winter's harshest bite.

 _Something wasn't right._

Her eyes flew open at once, only to be faced with the sight of a flaming, spectral skull. A scream caught in her throat, unable to force its way to the surface, as she stared in mute horror at the monster in her bed.

Ghostly green fire crackled around the… _thing's_ head, empty sockets peering back at her in morbid curiosity. Amaranth squirmed frantically in the specter's grasp, but to no avail, heavy green gauntlets holding her hips firmly in place.

"T-thresh?" she whispered, hoping to the heavens that this was some… mistake of sorts, that Thresh would burst through the doors at any moment now and rid her of this ghastly terror.

The monster said nothing, still as stone and terrifying in its silence.

"Thresh?" she repeated, this time with more conviction.

There was a harrowing pause, until the clink of metal on metal finally broke the silence. Chains burst forth from the shadows, like an army of metal snakes obeying the commands of their master. With a life of their own, they rattled forward dauntlessly, seeking out their target.

Amaranth's eyes widened with unbridled fear as the chains wrapped themselves around her ankles and wrists. She could only watch as they coiled up her legs, almost sensually, snaking up her calves and thighs.

It was only when the chains began tugging at her legs, easing them apart so that she was spread out intimately before her hellish captor, that Amaranth finally screamed.

The shriek ripped through the night, causing the specter to shift, with unearthly grace, towards her. Now that they were in closer proximity, she could faintly discern that the wraith was indeed, male. He leered down at her, skeletal features stretching wide in a dreadful grin.

And then he laughed. It was a terrible sound, madness resonating straight from the very fires of hell, chilling and cruel and frighteningly familiar.

It was _**his**_ laugh. And Amaranth screamed again.

"Amaranth," his voice echoed distantly in her ears, "Amaranth. Wake up."

She stopped struggling for a moment. _What?_

"Amaranth," came Thresh's voice again, free from all hollow reverberation, "Curse and blind the girl. Amaranth, for heaven's sake, do wake up. Wake up!"

 _Wake up?_

 _Oh…_ _ **Oh!**_ _Yes. She had to wake up, somehow. Wake up!_

 _Wake…_

 _Up…_

…

* * *

She jolted awake with a sharp intake of breath, beads of cold sweat clinging to her forehead. A very human, very much alive Thresh sat by her side, arms draped securely around her shoulders. Strong hands pulled her into sitting position, her pulse hammering noisily away against her rib cage.

Once her racing heart had settled into a calmer rhythm, Amaranth finally mustered enough willpower to look up at him.

"W-what happened, Thresh?"

"You tell me."

"I… I don't know," she stalled, a deep blush beginning to darken her cheeks.

To her dismay, he leaned closer to her, brows knitting together in puzzled discontent.

"Mordekaiser again, I presume?"

"No, it wasn't him this time," she answered quietly.

"Then what was it?"

"A dream," she inhaled sharply, flashes of the specter still lingering in her mind, "No. A nightmare."

"Is there a really difference between the two?"

"Well… er. Yes, obviously."

"Enlighten me."

She sighed, relieved that he didn't choose to press for details of her dream (or was it a nightmare...?).

"Dreams," she began, steadiness returning to her voice, "Are about our fantasies. Our desires. Nightmares, on the other hand, are filled with monsters. And fear." Swiftly, Amaranth turned away from him before continuing, "What I experienced was neither."

Thresh said nothing for a while, silent gaze flitting over the blushing girl. And then a warm hand gripped her chin, tilting her face towards his.

"Or perhaps it was both."

 _He knew._

He knew, and she couldn't bring herself to care. He would continue to haunt her subconscious, caught somewhere between a daydream and a nightmare, and she didn't care.

 _Why?_

In that moment, Amaranth allowed herself to entertain a truly frightening thought. It was a harsh truth, one revealed in the stark, sudden clarity of her mind.

How strange, and how terrifying it was, to love something that could only destroy. And so she loved him as all dark things are loved, in secret, somewhere lost between shadow and soul.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0: So that happened. Yes, it was a dream, and no, I don't know why Thresh went full on Chain Warden during sexy time. I kind of wanted to show how Thresh has now infected Amaranth's mind without being too obvious or jarring. She's no longer haunted by Mordekaiser, instead, her thoughts and fears and desires have all been taken over by Thresh. It's pretty awful. But yeah. Don't know how I pulled it off in the end**

 **Aaanyway. If you haven't already, please spare me a favorite. Oh, and leave a review :P It's really the most rewarding and humbling part of writing all this, not to mention that I LOVE reading your comments.**

Review/PM replies:

Gmp1000: Thank you for the reassurance! It's really nice to know that you think the story is progressing, and that the characters are developing and growing (as they should). Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

zRedgrave: Hehe, I do believe we've discussed this already, but I assure you, the butterflies are mutual! :P

A fan of this: Thanks! That certainly lessened any worries I had :)

iHookGirls: Awww, thank you! I don't really think it was EPIC as you said, but I'll take the compliment! Totally agree with you and Layla about character development and relationship building, I'm glad you've stuck around to read this! :) anyways, I hope this chapter was an 'interesting' enough path for Amaranth and Thresh to take ;)

guisniperman: Aw, shucks, sorry to hear about your bad Thresh experiences. I guess I'll see you when Mordekaiser finally comes into the fray!

EDGLayla: Yeeeeah! I'm so glad you liked Thresh's 'pick-up line'! And I also hope that you enjoyed the uh, path, taken in this chapter ;)

Haruzaki: Hi dear! Sorry to hear about your horrible day, hope you'll have none of that BS in 2017. It's nice to know you like the AmaThresh relationship so far, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy their interactions!

Maxaro: Hellooo, funny seeing you here :P I know! It's weird, reading the first chapter and then this, I mean. Nonetheless, thank you for the inspiration for the 'fresh start'!


	11. Almost

**A/N: Hello world! I'm back with a new chapter of Untouchable! It's only been, what, 4 months? That being said, I'm not too sure about this chapter, I feel like I've lost my "edge". Not that I really had one to begin with. On to this chapter, it starts off... with something new and different. So I apologize if it's not to your liking, but I honestly had no idea where else to put this little "arc". It's quite brief though, so bear with me and we'll eventually get back to Thresh and Amaranth :)**

 **As usual, please review and fav/follow if you haven't already. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

The General Kalista seemed to be everything he wasn't. Born into wealth and prestige as the King's niece, she wore the cheekbones of nobility high on her face, graced with an air of power reserved only for those of royal blood.

So very unlike himself, a boy born with nothing but his horse and the will to fight.

Hecarim had been squired into a legendary company of knights called the Iron Order as a young boy, destined for the rage of war and combat. And when he looked to the stars burning bright in the sky, as those from the gutter often did, he had promised himself to settle for nothing less, and all things beyond.

From the back of his steed, he rode tall and strong upon the shoulders of opportunity in the years that passed both on and off the battlefield, the hunger for war sated only by glory.

And somewhere along the way, between flashes of victories wrested from enemies long-dead, the Knight Commander named Hecarim had traded in the warmth of the stars for cold ambition.

So it had only seemed natural that he should detest her, Kalista, with her stony regality and effortless poise. Where the General was assertive in her subtlety, Hecarim commanded the kind of strength that had to be earned, at the price of one too many split lips and bloodied knuckles.

But for all his strength, Hecarim still found himself darkened by bitterness, condemned to seethe silently in the shadow of the King's favorite.

Until one day, the General and the Knight Commander finally came to understand each other.

One day, in the midst of piling casualties and dwindling strength, with the odds stacked against them and forced into retreat at the King's behest, the General Kalista had thrown down her spear into the blood-soaked mud and ordered those few remaining to press onwards.

It had been a rash move, far too impulsive for the stern tactician and her strict command of war-time stratagem. Hecarim had known it, Kalista herself had known it too, but they had ridden out together anyway, spears drawn and adrenaline roaring.

Because in the heat of battle with losses too many, too personal, even the hardest of stones could crack.

 _They sat almost shoulder to shoulder that night, nursing wounds fresh from the bittersweet ache of victory._

" _That was foolish."_

" _It was necessary. And now we will be welcomed home as heroes. Is that not what you want, Hecarim?"_

" _I find no glory in praises sung by peasants. The King will not be pleased that you defied his orders."_

" _That is immaterial, seeing as we are victorious."_

" _You will need better reasoning than that to appease him."_

" _What would you have me say, then?"_

" _The truth."_

" _That there was potential for an advantage in our lack of numbers? Yes, those few of us remaining were among the kingdom's most elite-"_

" _Don't lie, Kalista. It doesn't suit you."_

 _She didn't so much as recoil, sharp features settled back into their usual impasse._

" _You would do well to address me as Genera-"_

" _You had the chance to retreat,_ _ **General**_ _, to recuperate and live to fight the battle another day. You didn't. Why didn't you?"_

" _The enemy would have caught up to-"_

" _Why. Didn't. You."_

" _Because I needed_ _ **vengeance**_ _!"_

 _Silence. And then-_

" _A selfish whim. We followed-_ _ **I**_ _followed your need for vengeance. Without question."_

" _And why did you?"_

 _Hecarim paused before answering. A moment too long. Too hesitant._

" _Because I needed war."_

 _And in that moment they both suddenly understood, that there was no war fought without vengeance._

 _So it was in the heat of newfound understanding that Hecarim took her to bed the only way he knew how, ferociously, as Kalista drowned in his eyes of ocean blue, desperate to quench her thirst for retribution. And when her roaming hands latched onto the sturdiness of his back, she found shelter in his name, all while failing to realize, that he was the storm._

* * *

Kalista was leaving.

She said little, as she always did, but Hecarim knew from the tense lock of her shoulders that the General was anxious.

"You are leaving," he remarked. Stoic, unconcerned.

"Yes."

He watched as she gathered her supplies. _No helmet. No armor. No sword._

"Not for battle."

An observation. He didn't know why he wasted his time on stating the obvious.

"Correct."

She was often like this, a woman of few words. Often times, he found he could appreciate that about her. Times like these, he didn't.

"The Iron Order awaits your instructions. They will need time to prepare for-"

"I will not require the Iron Order's services for my journey."

Realization dawned, sudden and stark, that Kalista was leaving, and she was leaving _alone_.

"A bold venture, attempting to avenge the Queen on your own," swallowing once, Hecarim could almost taste his own bitterness, "The assassin that poisoned her was swift. Formidable. Had it not been for your sword-"

"Had it not been for my sword, the Queen would not be ill at this moment!" Kalista snapped, icy composure shattering briefly.

"Had it not been for your sword, we would be mourning the loss of the King instead. Kalista," she flinched at the sound of her name, so alien and raw from his lips, "You deflected the assassin's blade. You were not the one who imbued it with poison."

"I know," she whispered, "I know."

"You know this, and yet you still wish to depart in solitude. You are no vigilante, General."

"I do not seek revenge, merely a cure."

"The Queen will be dead long before you find a cure."

At this, she spun around to face him, eyes burning and voice trembling.

"I have to try! What else would you have me do?"

Hecarim fell into a purposeful silence, as hunger glinted in his eyes.

"Ride out to war with me."

"War?"

"Ride out with me," he reiterated, voice growing in conviction, "It is no secret that the assassin hails from one of our neighboring lands. Rally our troops, and we shall cut them down where they stand."

"I cannot. Will not."

"Instead you would have us cower within our own walls while you roam the Earth in futility."

"And should my search for a cure prove so futile, I will need-" she retracted, "The King will need your strength. Please Hecarim, you must stay with him and guard the kingdom in my absence."

"A menial task."

"It is not! We cannot dispense suffering without reason by starting a war."

"Those who receive proper homage are often seen as cruel."

"Proper homage? Is the kingdom's gratitude no longer enough for you?"

He stepped towards her in a bold invasion of her personal space, their proximity both foreign and familiar at the same time. It was almost intimate. Almost.

"Only half-greats are worshipped in flowers and wine. True greats, on the other hand," a shadow flickered across Hecarim's features, "True greats demand _**blood**_."

"I will _**not**_! Start. A war!" She had all but seized him by the shoulders, her tone holding more desperation than persuasion, "That is final."

"Do you no longer need vengeance, Kalista?"

"I will always need vengeance," she whispered, unflinching under the steel of his gaze, "But perhaps I no longer need war."

She was forgetting though, so foolish and blind, that _he_ still needed war, that he would _always_ need war. Hecarim tensed, fingers twitching towards his spear.

It took every last bit of strength in him not to plunge his spear straight through her chest.

Kalista turned, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, nothing more meant by it, yet nothing less. And then she was gone, just an empty hallway left in her wake.

The tension in Hecarim's shoulders ebbed slowly, but his knuckles remained ghostly white, fingers coiled in a crushing grip around his spear. He had almost killed her, right there and then. Almost.

Next time, he would not exercise the same restraint. Because in his eyes, she was the one who betrayed him first.

* * *

Sometimes, Amaranth dreamt of castles and palaces so grand they seemed to touch the golden skies above. Sometimes, she dreamt of war. Vivid imagery of battles she'd never fought, soldiers she'd never known.

Most of the time though, she dreamt of Thresh.

In those dreams, she was always afraid.

Because in her dreams, Thresh was always the monster, always the terrible, grinning specter cloaked in flames of green. She didn't know why ( _or did she?_ ) her mind had fixated on this particular image of Thresh, only that it did.

So perhaps it was merely a law of nature that a dream or desire, carried for too long in the heart, could only and eventually begin to rot.

Amaranth descended into the endless chasm of her own slumber, flailing and drowning in the dark.

There was a piercing split of light, followed by another, and then another in an ardent blaze of blistering white. The darkness pulsed once, as if holding its breath, before shattering with the kind of soundless elegance reserved only for great tragedies.

Soft green wisps weaved their way through shards of glassy black while Amaranth fell, and fell through the infinite abyss laced with constellations of swirling green.

She shivered as her fingers grazed through the scattered fragments of light, wondering how something so bright could possibly be so cold. Helpless against the pull of gravity, Amaranth sighed, breaths of tiny, shimmering crystals drawn out from her lungs into the frigid air.

Maybe soon, _soon,_ it would all be over. Slowly, she closed her eyes and willed her body away to the beckoning shadows.

Then, she felt herself come to a stop, melding seamlessly into a pair of arms that held her like she was a maiden spun out of pure glass, so fragile and delicate.

"Beautiful things are so easily broken."

That voice. Against her withering strength, Amaranth pried her eyes open.

Thresh cradled her against his chest, standing tall while green flames crackled without a sound around his skull. His touch was gentle, as if she meant something to him.

It was almost comforting. She supposed that the monster could only live so comfortably in her dreams because she permitted it. Yearned for it, somehow.

 _Was it mad that she found comfort in her monster? Almost mad, maybe._

"Am I broken?"

All around them, wisps of deathly green drifted gently by, fallen petals wept from a dying tree. Thresh regarded the wisps with solemn intrigue, a strange expression for a nightmare.

"Not quite. But your soul is in ruins."

She smiled weakly back at him, frail and languid in his arms.

"Isn't it grand?"

The specter nodded, once, skeletal jaw turned upwards in a grin.

"Divine."

* * *

Thresh watched the restless flutters of her soul from the foot of her bed.

A part of him liked Amaranth best in this state, dormant and malleable, leaving him free to probe the edges of her soul without resistance. While she slept, she left her thoughts unguarded, her dreams a window to the defenseless soul.

He would enter her mind sometimes with the magic he wielded, silent instigator of nightmares as he darkened her to his own will in the calm of her slumber.

It was a formless, subtle sort of torment, in which he could only breach but never hope to break or touch. Not fully.

He could harm Amaranth no further, not without inflicting substantial damage on himself at least, an irksome byproduct of her powers.

At first, Thresh had been content to merely observe, amused by her longing for him.

But as time wore on he had become obsessed with the desire to invade and _infect_. And so he haunted her the only way he deemed fit, as a monster, equal parts grace and terror.

Then there was the mystery of the devil dressed in hellfire. He knew that the specter in Amaranth's dreams was a projection of himself, but the image was too vivid, too recurring, to be a figment of Amaranth's imagination.

He supposed it would remain unsolved for now, just another secret to be picked and pried from her mind.

Amaranth stirred in her sleep, restless as usual on the brink of waking.

He sighed at the interruption as the quiet glow floating above Amaranth's body vanished and withdrew to somewhere deep within her, far beyond his reach and control.

"Thresh wha-" she blinked sleepily at him, "It's the middle of the night."

"You dreamt of monsters again," he offered, feigning ignorance. _Because of course she did._

"Yes, I- Wait," she shook her head, "How did you know?"

"Your body so often suffers the restlessness of your soul. It is almost blinding in its prominence."

"You watched me sleep?!"

"Nothing I haven't done before," he shrugged.

Groaning in frustration, Amaranth propped herself up, "You _really_ need a hobby, Thresh."

"Perhaps I simply enjoy watching you struggle."

"Then it would please you to know," she yawned, "That I struggled greatly tonight."

"No respite from the demon in your head."

"None," she admitted, "But I am no longer sure if the demon is mine to even begin with."

"No?" He pressed, pushing down a sense of urgency. _What did she mean by "not her demon"? She couldn't possibly know… could she? No. He had been careful. Too careful._

"No," Amaranth continued, "Because I know where I've seen the monster before."

* * *

It had happened weeks ago. 6 weeks, if she was being precise.

 _Amaranth was in a dreadful mood. Stupid game, and stupid Thresh, and stupid enormous vault._

 _What on earth was an Orb of Panoptes supposed to look like anyway?!_

 _She ventured a guess that it was at least round in appearance, because orbs were round, right? (Right!)_

 _And what was it that Thresh had said? Not to touch the surface directly? Or to only touch the surface directly? Damn forgetfulness._

 _Frustrated, she threw her hands in the air, secretly grateful that Thresh wasn't around to witness her irritation. Then, something caught her eye, the smooth gleam of glass peeking out from a swathe of blankets sitting on the shelf beside her._

 _Could it be?_

 _Amaranth inched closer, poking away at the fabric wrapped around the object._

 _Oh, it_ _ **was**_ _!_

 _Grinning at her sudden change of luck, she reached immediately for the orb, triumphant, and threw all caution to the wind._

 _But as her fingers closed in around the glassy surface, pain seared through her hand, white hot and blistering to the touch._

 _Flashes of a monstrous face flickered beneath her eyelids, of empty, flaming sockets and smooth, black bone, each carved purposefully into her mind like lightning burning into stone._

 _Scalded, Amaranth yelped and recoiled sharply, dropping the orb in the process. She bit back the sting of burned flesh as her raw, scorched skin started to heal itself, grateful for the healing runes for once._

 _The slightest echo of a laugh lingered between her ears. Haunting. Mocking. It belonged to the unknown face no doubt, but who, or what in the world was that even supposed to be?_

 _Gingerly, Amaranth tiptoed towards the orb, now lying harmlessly on the ground. So she wasn't supposed to touch it, after all. And now she had dropped it._ _ **Shit.**_

 _Casting a guilty look over her shoulder for good measure, Amaranth hurriedly tossed the blanket over the orb, and shoved it back on the shelf where it belonged. It could very well stay there for eternity, for all she cared._

 _She dared not look back when she left, blinking away images of the skeletal visage that would plague her dreams in the weeks to come._

* * *

"You returned empty-handed that day."

"I uh, lied about not being able to find the orb."

"Very distasteful, your dishonesty," Thresh growled.

"I thought I had broken it when I dropped it!"

"And your first instinct was to lie."

"Yes! Well… no! I didn't think to mention it because," she hesitated, "Because when I touched the orb… it showed me something."

"Something," he hummed, thoughtful, "A face, perhaps?"

"A ghost, actually."

"The same ghost that has since made its home in your dreams. Burrowed its way into your nightmares."

"Yes," Amaranth nodded and swallowed once, suddenly nervous, "You know this… How?"

"Your soul. It speaks to me," Thresh started softly, eyes clouding over with something unreadable, "Whispers… like a breeze, begging to be heard and felt..."

Amaranth held very still as he hovered a hand above her legs. Thresh continued to stare, fingertips dancing just above her skin, mesmerized by something she could not see.

"And what exactly does my soul tell you?"

"That you have been marked."

"Marked?" she crinkled her nose, "By who?"

Thresh smiled at her, not unkindly. His green eyes shimmered in the dark, tempting her with truths she did not wish to know.

"By death."

"The face I saw from the Orb of Panoptes," she shifted uneasily in bed, "The face I keep seeing-"

"Yes," he leaned in towards her, smile widening unnaturally, "It showed you the face of Death."

 _Marked by Death. Death, in the form of a monstrous specter. Death, who sounded exactly like Thresh. Spoke like Thresh. Moved like Thresh._

 _Thresh._

 _Thresh, as Death._

It was utterly ridiculous, and yet at the same time it made perfect sense. Her voice caught in her throat, not nearly as stunned or horrified as she'd expected.

"Death has your voice. In my dreams, at least," she finally managed to say.

"I know."

"Do you think it means anything?"

"Perhaps it will, in time."

He shrugged, though his eyes remained sharp, too knowing, too pleased.

"Time," she echoed, "That, I have plenty of."

"I suppose that is why Death has claimed you as his."

"Because I cannot die," she said flatly, "Seems a little ambitious, even for Death."

"A great chase to end all time," he offered, "To see the skies crumble and fall until the last wisps of breath leave your body."

"It makes no sense," Amaranth shook her head, dissatisfied with his answer, "Death has his pick of who to reap. Always has. Always will."

"An endless field to cull."

"Endless," she agreed, "Yet he would attempt to collect what he cannot."

"If he is so inclined to act, then yes."

"A terrible hassle."

"Or a great accomplishment."

"Upon success, that is."

"Do you doubt Death?"

"I do not doubt. I would merely like to see him try."

He grinned, teeth glinting softly in the dim light. They were close now, faces almost touching as broad shoulders loomed over her.

"He will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because in a garden full of flowers, which would you pick?"

She held his gaze.

"The most beautiful ones."

And if he were truly insane, and all that he said came true in the end, Amaranth wasn't sure if she would have cared.

Because it was only with his madness and his twisted mind that he could have almost loved her. Almost. And Amaranth found that she was just fine with that.

* * *

 **A/N 2.0: So. A few things. The little snippets of Hecarim and Kalista were meant to bring the whole Blessed Isles turning into Shadow Isles thing into the plot. And also because I ship those two like crazy.** **I also realize that parts of this chapter might not have been clear. Shit. Especially with the part where Thresh "molds" Amaranth's soul while she sleeps. The main gist of it is that since our dear Chain Warden can't actually harm Amaranth, he opts instead for good ol' mind-fuckery by manipulating her soul and entering her dreams. And yes, Thresh has his "soul" powers, I'll find a way to explain that in later chapters. Do feel free to ask me any questions if you feel like something didn't make sense.**

 **Please let me know what you thought about this chapter with a review!**

Review Replies:

A fan of this: Duly noted! Rating has since been changed lol.

EDGLayla: I'm glad you enjoyed the hook-up! You're totally right about Thresh getting his freak-on in bed, it was fun to write :P

iHookGirls: Thank you! I hope this chapter answered your questions about Amaranth seeing ghost-Thresh in her dreams, it actually inspired me to write the whole thing about seeing the face of Death, so major thanks for that!

sristy07: Yesss! I had intended for the sex scene to be vague and ambiguous enough for it to pass for a dream! Nice to know that you appreciated the weirdness :)

Ocu: Yes, it seems like I can never make up my mind about when it comes to writing. Always gotta tweak something, ya know? But your words are appreciated, it's good to know that the re-writes are actually improvements.

GlowstickWithAHacksaw: What can I say? Sex sells :P Sorry that there's none of that in this chapter though

TheIntelligentLeopard: Thank you so much! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, especially since it's been awhile!

Haruzaki: Hey! Even longer time no see! I'm so happy that you feel that way about the way I write Thresh and Amaranth, it's inspiring and motivating to hear such encouragement. I hope you enjoyed this one too :)

Windbgone: Well, I'm honored! I also prefer the later chapters honestly. Piercing laziness for reviews, it's what I do :P Thanks for taking the time to read and review!

Kuraudiachan: Hello! Longgg time no see! I've recently caught up with the Light's Child and was really impressed with all the drama you've included. And I really appreciate you taking the time to write such a thoughtful and helpful review! I'm glad you like the changes to Thresh, and agree that the romance in the rewritten version is more subdued. I'll see if I can work some tension into the plot as it goes on, but nonetheless, I'm really glad that you're still reading! :)

Gmp1000: Haha, we find something new everyday, don't we? Hope to hear your thoughts on this recent one!


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